N'o 


^, 


"And  other  sheep  I  have  that  arc  not  of  this  fold ;  them  also  1  must 
briny,  and  they  shall  hear  my  voice:  and  there  xhall  bo  one  fold,  and 
one  shepherd." — John  x,  1C. 


3f 

|mptoceJ, 


BALTIMOKE: 

PUBLISHED  BY  JOHN  MURPHY  &  Co. 

182   BALTIMORE    STREET. 
PIT  TSHURG:...  GEORGE  QUIOLKY. 


Entered  according  to  the  Act  of  Congress,  in  ihe  yi>ar  1845, 
by  PATRICK  S.  CASSEBI.Y,  in  tho  Clerk's  Office  of  the  Dis- 
trict Court  for  tho  Southern  District  of  New  York. 


PREFACE  TO  THE  FIRST  EDITION. 

TlAVixa  several  years  ago,  observed  with  much  pain  the  harm 
done  against  ttie  truth  by  the  publication  of  "Father  Clement," 
and  many  .similar  productions,  I  was  induced,  at  the  instance  of 
a  much  and  highly-respected  friend,  to  sketch  the  following 
story,  the  outlines  of  which  I  have  filled  up  from  various  sources 
of  information  and  assistance. 

I  have  freely  made  use  of  all  the.  means  of  information  which 
lay  in  my  way,  whetlicr  published  or  unpublished;  from  the 
beautiful  gardens  of  many  distinguished  authors  I  have  culled  a 
finwer  here  and  there,  and  endeavored  to  weave  them  iiito  a 
garland  offered  to  the  greater  honor  and  glory  of  God.  To^theso 
authors  I  beg  to  return  my  grateful  thanks  once  for  all,  "and  I 
trusi  the'.-  will  not  take  it  ill  if  I  have  not  refeired  to  them,  which 
I  must  have  done  in  almost  every  page.  This  story,  as  a  novel, 
has  little  to  recommend  itself  to  the  mere  novel  reader,  who 
seeks  only  the  passing  excitement  of  the  moment.  ])ut  this  was 
not  the  object  of  the  present  work  :  its  only  aim  has  been  to  pre- 
sent an  antidote  to  the  baneful  production,  "Father  Clement." 

Hence,  all  tho  objections  against  the  Catholic  faith  are  taken 
verbatim  from  that  work,  and  therefore  I  earnestly  beg  the  ad- 
miivrs  of  "Father  Clement,"  if  they  have  any  candor,  to  read 
"Father  Osw-sld."  If  there  is  much  repetition  i.i  many  of  the 
objections  and  answers,  all  I  can  say  is,  that  it  is  the  fault  of 
"  Father  Clement;  "  but  it  is  nevertheless,  a  fact,  that  Protestants 
frequently  repeat  the  same  objections  over  and  over  again 
although  they  have  boon  a  hundred  times  previously  re  ''uteri. 

The  theological  part  of  this  work  has  been  submitted  to  the 
censure  ol  a  competent  ecclesiastic,  to  whom  I  express  my  re- 
spectful and  grateful  thanks,  as  well  as  to  all  others  from  whom 
I  have,  known  or  unknown  to  themselves,  received  assistance  in 
this  little  undertaking,  which  has  been  performed  entirely  from 
motives  of  love  to  God  and  to  my  neighbor.  Gentle  reader, 
receive  it  in  the  spirit  with  which  it  lias  been  written. 

January  1, 1813. 


PUKFACK  TO  THE  SECOND  EDITION. 


TIIS  first  edition  having  neon  exhausted  and  another  urgently 


t-'cu    pruumj  —  (IIII:E«&IUUB    BU|||MM*UI    nuij  revuiitm, 

wherever  such  alterations  appeared  requisite  to  the  improvement 
of  the  work.  From  the  care  and  pains  bestowed  on  tee  prepara- 
tion of  this  stereotype  edition,  the  Publishers  are  induced  to 
hope,  it  will  be  found  still  more  worthy  of  tho  patronage  of  the 
American  community. 

Feast  of  St.  Francis  of  Paula,  1845. 

2054392 


FATHER  OSWALD,  &c. 


CHAPTER  I. 

'  Fishing  and  fiddling  were  his  arts  ;  at  times, 
He  alteied  sermons,  or  he  tried  at  rhymes." — CKADBB 

"  '"Vni.'HER  have  you  been  strolling,  my  dearest  Emma!" 
said  vilv;  rd  Setton  to  his  lovely  wife,  as  he  met  her  one  dcli- 
ciou»  suviaer  evening  returning' through  the  lawn  to  their  nap. 
py  home. 

'  "  I  have  been  to  visit  poor  William  Smith ;  I  think  he  will 
not  be  long  for  this  world,"  answered  she,  putting  her  arm  with- 
in that  of  her  husband. 

"  Poor  fellow !  I  am  sorry  for  it  •  he  was  always  an  honest 
industrious  creature.  I  hope  our  good  friend  Dr.  Davison  ha? 
been  to  see  him." 

"  Indeed,  Edward,  I  don't  believe  he  has,"  answered  Emma 
in  rather  a  melancholy  tone. 

"And  why  not,  pray!"  said  Edward;  "surely,  when  the 
poor  man  is  likely  to  be  called  so  soon  to  his  awful  account,  he 
requires  the  succours  of  religion." 

"  So  he  thought,  and  so  I  thought ;  but  so  did  not  think  Dr. 
Davison." 

"  Impossible !   But  has  Smith  ever  sent  for  him  V 

"  Yes,"  answered  Emma,  "  he  sent  for  him  about  three 
months  ago." 

"  And  why  die1  he  not  go  to  him  1" 

"  He  did  go  thtii — one  visit,"  answered  Emma  ;  "  I  remem- 
ber it  quite  well ,  and  he  told  Smith  he  could  do  nothing  for 
him." 

"  Nothing  for  him !"  interrupted  Mr.  Sefton  ;  "  I  have  a  mind 
to  report  him  to  the  bis.iop.  I:  will  be  well  if  his  gown  is  not 
pulled  over  his  head.  '  Noth;n»  for  him !'  and  so  I  presume  he 
thinks  some  Christian.*  u:-»>  die  like  dogs,  as  if  they  had  no 
souls  a*  all." 


B  FATHER  OSWALD. 

"  I  was  visiting  poor  Smith  at  the  time,  and  heard  the  follow- 
ing conversation  : — '  Dr.  Davison,'  said  the  poor  invalid,  '  I  have 
during  many  years  prayed  to  God  to  make  a 'good  death,  for  I 
have  Telt  '.he  disease  coining  on  ;  but  now  you  tell  me  you  can 
do  nothing  for  me:  yet  I  have  read  in  my  Bible  that  St.  James 
says,  '  When  any  one  is  sick  amongst  you,  let  him  bring  in  the 
priests  of  the  church  :'*  to  which  Davison  answered,  '  It  is  no 
use  wasting  my  time  in  talking  about  it,  Smith,  because  the 

Archbishop  of  X quite  settled   the  point  some  time  ago: 

but  read  your  Bible,  and,  as  I  have  known  you  for  some  time 
to  be  a  good  kind  of  m<in,  I  will  tell  my  wife  to  come  and  read 
you  Ji  chapter  now  and  then.'  " 

"  Tell  his  wife,  indeed  !  a  pretty  idea  of  his  duties  as  a  cler- 
gyman. Did  not  you  remonstrate,  Emma  V 

"Yes;  but  to  all  I  could  say,  he  only  answered,  that  there 
•was  nothin?  more  he  could  do;  that  he  was  too  busy  with  his 
studies,  and  with  the  composition  of  a  little  work  on  angling." 

"  Too  busy  with  his  stu'dies!  I  never  knew  him  put  forward 
his  studies  as  a  barrier  to  a  good  dinner  party,  or  a  general 

battue  of  the  preserves  of  Lord  B .     His  art  of  angling,  to  bo 

sure,  if  practice  makes  perfect,  will  be  a  valuable  acquisition  to 
amateurs,  for  he  is  truly  an  indefatigable  whipper  of  the  stream, 
and  a  cunning  artist  in  lly-making.  If  the  devil  himself  were 
a  trout,  he  could  scarcely  escape  being  hooked  by  one  of  his 
murderous  flies:  after  all,  fishing  is  an  innocent  amusement; 
the  Apostles,  you  know,  Emma,  were  fishermen." 

"  Yes,  Edward ;  but  vou  forget  that  when  they  were  called  to 
be  fishers  of  men,  they  left  their  nets  to  follow  Christ.  I  can 
conceive  that  fishing  and  field-sports  are  very  innocent  and 
healthy  amusements  when  used  with  moderation,  and  as  a  re- 
laxation from  more  serious  duties,  as  you  are  wont  to  make 
them;  but  to  make  them  the  all-important  and  sole  business  of 
life,  ill  becomes  a  Christian,  and  still  worse  a  clergyman." 

"  Your  observation  is  just,  and  the  conduct  of  our  clerical 
Nimrod  has  often  given  me  pain ;  but  sure!y  he  sometimes  calls 
to  see  poor  Smith  V 

"He  has  never  been  near  Smith  since;  and  I  have  often 
thought  to  myself,  that  I  hoped  Dr.  Davison  would  not  have  the 
cure  when  I  shall  l>e  called  to  my  long  home/' 

"  Well,  I  cannot  understand  it,"  said  Edward,  rising  from  the 
•>jneh  on  which  they  had  been  seated;  "  it  would  not  have  been 
so  in  good  old  Mr.  Robson's  time.  I  declare  I  will  write  to  the 

Bishop  of  D about  it." 

"  It  is  no  use  to  write  to  the  bishop  about  it,  it  an  archbishop 
*  James  v.  14 


KATIIKR  OSWALD  3 

has  already  settled  it.  I  think  it  is  a  very  sad  thing  to  depend 
on  the  individual  opinions  of  different  clergymen  on  a  point  ot 
so  much  importance." 

"Ah,  do  not  lie  sad  about  it,  dearest,"  said  Edwatd  ;  "  you 
know  we  do  not  depend  upon  the  opinion  o!'  any  clergyman  :  \ve 
can  afl  rend  the  Bible,  and  have  a  right  to  interpret  it  according 
to  our  own  unbiassed  opinion." 

L-'.tnma  suppressed  a  rising  sigh,  and  Se!'ton  continued  . 

"  Now  I  think  it  clear  that  poor  Smith,  in  his  ignorance,  has 
mistaken  the  meaning  of  the  Apostle's  words:  tor  James  is  evi- 
dently speaking  of  the  miraculous  gill  o!'  hsal'ms,  which  was 
given  to  the  Apostles.  But  miracles,  you  know,  my  dear,  have 
long  since  ceased." 

"So  we  are  laugh.'."  snid  Emma  seriously,  "but  I  never 
heard  upon  what  scriptural  evidence.  Did  not  Christ  say.  if  we 
had  faith,  '  as  a  grain  of  mustard  seed,  we  might  move  moun- 
tains;* and  on  another  occasion,  did  he  not  siy,  '  He  that  be- 
lievelh  in  me.  the  works  that  I  do,  lie  also  shall  do,  and  greater 
than  these  .-.hall  he  do  T't  Now,  I  have  never  read  that  these 
promises  were  limited  to  time,  or  place,  or  persons." 

"  Your  reasoning  is  specious,  Etnniu ;  but  all  reasoning  is  of 
no  avail  against. a  positive  fact:  for  when  do  we  now  see  a 
miracle  1" 

"  I  think  that  is  rather  a  negative  fact,  which  seems  to  me  to 
argue  rather  a  deficiency  of  faith  on  our  part,  than  a  failure  of 
promise  on  the  part  of  Christ,"  answered  Mrs.  Seilon. 

"  Pooh,  pooh  !  Ernma  ;  put  that  foolish  notion  out  of  your 
head.  The  fact  is,  miracles  have  ceased,  and  no  more  need  be 
said  about  it." 

This  evasive  answer  no  ways  satisfied  the  mind  of  Mrs.  Se(- 
ton  ;  but  she  could  not,  or  rather  durst  not,  then  pursue  the  ques- 
tion farther;  so  turning  the  discourse,  she  gently  observed — 

"  I  do  not  think  that  poor  Smith  ex  ects  a  miracle  ;  but 
having  read  the  words  of  St.  James,  he  has  it  fixed  in  his  mind, 
ihat  the  priest  ought  to  be  called  in,  to  pray  over  him,  and  to 
anoint  him  with  oil ;  for,  somehow  or  other,  he  fannies  it  may 
do  him  good,  and  that '  his  sins  will  be  forgiven  him.'  " 

"  What  gross  ignorance  !"  exclaimed  her  husband,  •'  to  think 
of  such  a  superstitious  practice  in  this  enlightened  age  !  But 
al.  this  comes  from  the  fellow's  continually  running  from  one 
fanatical  meeting-house  to  another.  He  had  much  better  have 
attended  to  his  own  lawful  minister,  Dr.  Davison." 

"You  just  now  observed,  Edward,  that  we  are  not  obliged  tc 
fo''o\v  the  opinions  of  any  clerg)  man.  Now,  1  am  sure  pool 
*  Matt.  xvii.  10  +  John  xiv.  12 


4  FATHER  OSWALD. 

Smith  has  read  his  Bible  with  assiduitv  and  great  earnestness 
to  find  out  «he  truth,  and  if  he  thinks  differently  from  us,  we 
on^rit  not  to  blame  him:  besides,  his  own  minister  tells  him 
that  he  can  do  him  no  good." 

"  In  that  Davison  is  wrong  ;  we  have  in  the  common  prayer- 
"look  an  express  ordinance  tor  the  visitation  of  the  siclc."' 

"  That  ordinance,  you  know,  love,  prescribes  nothing  for  :he 
anointing  with  oil.'  Now,  this  it  is  which  troubles  poor  Smith 
the  most." 

"  A  foolish  and  superstitious  fancy,  Emma,  and  the  fellow 
doe>  no!  understand  the  Scripture." 

"  Dr.  Davison  understands  it  better,  of  course,  and  is,  there- 
fore, right  when  he  says  he  C'-n  do  him  no  good." 

"  I  did  not  say  that ;  he  might  at  least  pray  over  him.  and — " 

"  But."  interrupted  F.rnmn,  "does  the  archbishop  understand 
the  Scripture  better  on  this  important  point  V 

"  It  seems  not."  answered  her  husband  ;  "  it  is  a  subject,  how- 
ever, well  worth  thought  and  investigation,  and  I  will  silt  it  to 
the  bottom — depend  upon  that." 

By  this  time  the  sun  was  down,  and  the  last  golden  ray  of 
evening  hung  lingering  on  the  horizon,  when  they  entered  the 
door  of  their  home.  Edward  retired  to  his  study,  and  Emma 
went  to  her  nursery,  each  musing,  somewhat  thoughtfully,  or. 
what  had  passed. 

At  the  opening  of  this  narrative,  Mr  and  Mrs.  Sefton  had 
been  married  about  five  years,  and  were  the  happy  parents  o. 
three  little  boys  and  an  infant  girl.  Mr.  Sefton  was  a  strict 
Protestant,  a  man  of  deep  feeling  and  deep  prejudice  ;  very 
affectionate  and  very  firm ;  warmly  attached  to  his  wife,  but 
otherwise  of  a  disposition  more  inclined  to  severity  than  mild- 
ness;— was  well  educated,  well  read,  and  made  literature  his 
principal  pursuit.  Mrs.  Sefton  was  the  only  daughter  of  a 
Catholic  gentleman,  who  died  when  she  was  a  year  old  ;  sh« 
was  carefully  educated  by  a  Protestant  mother,  who  survived 
her  daughter's  marriage  but  a  few  months.  Emma  was  nn  af- 
fectionate wife  and  mother,  good,  gentle,  and  amiable  to  all 
around  her ;  but  with  a  great  fund  of  firmness  and  disinterested- 
ness of  character  when  called  upon  to  act;  possessing  a  culti- 
vated mind,  much  inclined  to  religion,  and  exercising  hf-rsel' 
assiduously  in  charity  to  the  poor  and  infirm.  Mr.  and  Mrs. 
Sefton  were  tenderly  attached  to  each  other,  and  happy  in  their 
own  domestic  circle,  endeavouring  to  diffuse  amongst  "their  nu- 
merous tenantry,  peace  and  content;  and  while  alleviating  the 
sufferings  and  relieving  the  wants  of  the  unfortunate,  they  often 
felt  peace  and  consolation  in  the  remembrance  of  those  emphatic 
words  of  Scripture,  "Charity  covereth  a  multitude  of  Sins." 


FATHER  OSWALD. 


CHAPTER    II. 

••  Another  tnd  charge  sick  persons  to  attend. 
And  comfort  those  in  point  of  death  which  lay  : 
For  them  most  needed  comfort  in  the  end, 
When  sin.  and  holl,  and  death,  does  mo-t  dismay 
The  feeble  soul,  departing  hence  away."—  SPENCER 

THE  individual  William  Smith,  mentioned  in  the  first  chnpcei, 
»•  is  one  of  Mr.  Seiton's  tenants,  the  father  of  a  small  lamiiy, 
«.\  as  it  has  been  hinted,  dying  of  consumption.  During  the 
process  of  this  insidious  disease,  the  poor  man  had  abundant 
time  o  reflect  on  the  importance  of  an  hereafter,  and  he  oi'ten 
frit  it,  \is  mind  a  little  doubt,  or  trembling  half-formed  fear, 
whethf  he  was  in  the  "strait  way  that  leads  to  lite,"  and 
amongst  he  few.  who  '•  find  it."  He  felt  the  yearnings  of  his 
soul  towa  Is  its  Creator.  The  desire  of  spending  his  eternity 
with  Him  ind  the  fears  that  he  might  be  rejected  be. ore  the 
awful  judgment  of  God  for  not  being  in  the  right  path  o.  sal 
vation,  oltei,  threw  him  into  the  painful  agonies  of  a  doubtful 
and  distracte*  spirit.  He  was  a  well-meaning  man.  much  in- 
clined lo  relig>  -a,  and  whilst  in  health  had  oiten  gone  to  pL.ces 
of  different  wo,  ^hip,  of  which  there  are  sa  many  in  England, 
and  where  of  co  Tse  he  had  heard  many  and  most  contradictory 
doctrines;  and  n<  -v,  on  his  death-bed,  all  these  things  came  *o 
his  mind,  couplea  vith  the  importance  of  the  •' one-thi.'ig  ne- 
cessary." He  trie*  to  find  relief  in  his  Bible,  but  when  he  met 
with  texts  like  thes^:  "There  is  one  faith,  one  baptism,  one 
God  ;"*  "  There  shai  be  one  fold,  and  one  shepherd  ;"t  "  Witli- 
out  faith  it  is  impossl,  le  to  please  God,": — his  perplexity  and 
anxiety  of  mind  increased.  One  day  in  extreme  despondency, 
he  pricked  into  his  Bibk  as  many  will  do  when  their  minds  are 
ill  at  ease,  and  his  eye  le- 1  on  the  following  text : — •'  Is  any  man 
sick  amongst  you  '  Lei  him  bring  in  the  priests  of  the  church, 
and  let  them  pray  over  him,  anointing  him  with  oil  in  the  name 
of  the  Lord  ;  and  the  prayer  of  faith  shall  save  the  sick  man  ; 
an  J  the  Lord  shall  raise  him  up,  and  if  he  be  in  sins,  they  shall 
be  forgiven  him  ;"§  a  ray  of  light  seemed  to  beam  on  his  soul ; 
he  called  instantly  to  his  wife,  and  desired  her  to  go  for  Dr. 
Davisnn  ;  she  went,  and  the  result  of  his  visit  has  been  already 
detailed.  From  that  time  the  poor  man's  troubles  of  mind 
'laily  increased,  and  he  in  vain  tried  to  account  to  himsell  foi 

*  Rp!i.  iv.  :,.  t  John  .»    16. 

1  lieu.  ii.  6.  y  Jiiinc*  v.  14,  15 


6  FATHER  OSWALD. 

tht  reasons  of  that  text  being  written  fit  all,  when  his  cwn  cler 
gyman  to'd  him  he  could  do  nothing  for  him. 

God  is  ever  good  to  those  who  seek  him  with  an  upright 
heart.  One  evening,  while  his  poor  wife  was  endeavouring 
with  all  the  anxiety  of  a  woman's  love,  to  sooth  his  mental  as 
well  as  his  bodily  anguish,  she  said  to  him,  "  God  knows  I  have 
no  time  to  read  the  Bible  as  you  have,  William,  but  I  have 
heard  that  text,  '  Ask,  and  you  shall  receive;  seek,  and  you 
shall  find ;  knock,  and  it  shall  be  opened  to  you,'*  and  I  ha?e 
asked  Cor  you,  that  God  may  give  you  peace." 

"  Oh  !  Mary,"  answered  he,  "  and  so  have  I  often  asked  it ; 
but  He  does  not  give  it!" 

"Well,  Willie,  do  you  know  what  I  have  been  thinking? 
Shall  I  go  and  call  Mr.  Ebenezer,  the  Methodist  preacher'?" 

"  No,  no,  Marv,  by  no  means.  I  have  often  heard  him  preach, 
but  I  never  found  pence  to  my  soul,  I  always  came  away  with 
a  he;!rt  as  heavy  and  as  cold  as  a  stone." 

"  How  so  1     Thou  usedst  to  call  him  a  wonderful  man." 

"  Aye,  so  I  thought  lor  a  time ;  but  when  I  found  he  WJK' 
always  hammering  into  us,  that  God  mado  some  few  men  to  be 
saved,  and  all  the  rest  to  be  damned,  I  could  bear  it  no  longer.*' 

"  Why,  that  was  making  God  a  cruel  tyrant.'' 

"  So  I  thought;  and  then  that  'saving  assurance,'  which  he 
said  all  God's  elect  must  have,  I  could  never  feel,  so  my  heart 
fell  within  me,  and  I  was  wellnigh  going  into  despair." 

"  Well,  then,  I  will  go  and  ask  that  man  who  they  say  is  so 
holy,  to  come  and  see  thee,  and  talk  to  thec." 

"  What  man  V  said  he,  anxiously  raising  his  head  fron?  hi? 
painful  pillow. 

"  Why,  Mr.  Oswald,  to  be  sure,  the  priest  at  the  Catholic 
chapel.  I  have  heard  him  preach,  and  I  have  seen  him  visit 
the  sick,  and  comfort  them,  and  who  knows  but  he  might  make 
thee  quiet  1" 

"  But,  Mary,  he  would  not  come  to  me,  he  would  say  I  was 
a  heretic — but  yet  there  can  be  no  harm  in  seeking  to  know  the 
truth.  I  will  do  so.  Go  directly,  Mary,  that  I  may  sleep  in 
peace." 

She  was  off  in  an  instant;  and  shortly  returned  with  Father 
Oswald. 

Father  Oswald  was  eminent  for  his  great  talents,  and  still 
more  for  his  great  piety  and  sanctity ;  he  was  a  professed  Father 
of  the  Society  of  Jesus,  about  fifty,  of  a  fine  majestic  exterior, 
and  an  open,  engaging  countenance;  with  a  peculiar  mixture 
in  his  deportment  and  manner  of  what  is  calculated  to  win  ana 

•  Luke  xi.  9. 
I 


FATHER  OSWALD.  i 

to  twe,  of  gentleness  and  compassion,  of  zeal  and  of  fervour 
bir.  that  which  forcibly  struck  even  the  mast  casual  observer, 
was  the  evident  superiority  and  power  his  spirit  maintained 
over  its  earthly  tenement,  and  the  great  sincerity  with  which  he 
seemed  to  feel  and  to  practice  the  love  of  God  and  of  his  neigh- 
bour, la  a  lew  minutes  he  was  seated  by  the  siclc  man's  side, 
anxiously  inquiring  if  he  could  be  of  any  use  to  him.  Poor 
Smith  looked  up  in  his  face,  and,  encouraged  by  the  mild  be- 
nignity of  his  visiter,  said — 

•  1  have  sent  for  you,  Sir,  because  I  am  very  wretched.  I 
Lope  you  will  pardon  the  liberty,  for  I  am  not  a  Catholic ;  but 
my  own  clergyman  says  he  can  do  nothing  for  me,  and  so  my 
wife  persuaded  me  to  speak  to  you." 

"  She  did  very  well ;  part  of  my  ministry  is  to  visit  the  sick, 
ind  comfort  the  afflicted.  Now,  tell  me  in  what  way  I  can 
*erve  you  You  seem  ill  in  body." 

"  Yes,  Sir,  very  ill,  but  my  mind  is  worse ;  I  fear  I  am  not 
in  the  right  way  to  go  to  Heaven.  Dr.  Davison  says  he  can  do 
nothing  for  me,  and  yet  I  find  this  text  (pointing  with  his  finger 
lo  the  passage  quoted  above).  Now,  what  is  the  use  of  its 
being  there  if  they  quite  neglect  it  1  I  wish  to  serve  God  in 
the  right  way,  but  in  the  Bible  I  cannot  see  quite  clearly  which 
it  is,  and  I  am  very  miserable  about  it."  There  he  paused  for 
want  of  breath,  and  Father  Oswald  answered: — 

"My  son,  be  of  good  heart,  and  you  will  soon  be  quite  happy  , 
it  is  not  from  the  Scripture  alone,  that  you  or  any  individua\ 
can  find  out  which  is  the  right  way.  Tell  me,  my  good  man, 
do  you  know  the  Apostles'  Creed  1" 

"  I  did  learn  it  in  my  boyhood ;  but  I  have  not  thought  mucfl 
about  it  since  I  began  to  read  the  Bible." 

"  Do  you  believe  all  the  things  contained  in  that  creed  V 

"  I  did  believe  them  when  I  was  a  lad,  and  I  think  I  have 
always  believed  them,  and  do  now  believe  them." 

"  Why  do  you  believe  them  V 

"  I  believe  them  because  I  was  taught  to  believe  them,  and  I 
have  never  seen  any  reason  to  doubt  of  them." 

"  Who  made  the  Apostles'  Creed  V 

"  I  cannot  exactly  tell,  but  I  guess  the  Apostles  must  have 
made  it.  But  I  do  not  remember  ever  to  have  read  it  in  the 
Bible/' 

"  Certainly  not ;  but  tell  me,  why  do  you  believe  the  Bible  1" 

"  I  have  always  believed  the  Bible  because  I  have  Seen  tnugU 
that  it  is  the  Word  of  God." 

"  Exactly  so :  now,  my  good  friend,  you  see  that  the  Apos- 
tles' Creed  and  the  Bible  hare  the  same  authority;  for  you 


B  FATHER  OSWALD. 

believe  both  on  the  same  motive — because  yon  nave  betn  so 
tnusiit  tc  believe,  and  that  is  as  it  should  be";  for  you  remem- 
ber'the  Bible  says,  that  Christ  sent  his  Apostles  '  lo  leach,  al! 
nations.'  "* 

"  I  see,  I  see,"  said  Smith,  after  some  reflection  ;  '•  it  must  be 
so.  But  there  are  so  many  teachers,  teaching1  such  different 
doclrines,  that  I  do  not  know  whom  to  believe.  And  Christ 
tells  us  to  '  beware  of  false  prophets  ;'t  and  St.  Peter,  I  think  it 
is,  says,  'There  shall  be  amongst  you  lying  teachers. '4  How, 
then,  is  a  poor  man  to  know  the  true  teachers  1" 

"Nothing  more  easy,  as  I  trust  I  shall  be  able  to  show  von  ; 
for  as  Christ  calls  all  to  the  truth,  the  way  to  find  it  must  be  so 
plain  and  easy,  ityit  the  poor  and  ignorant,  if  they  will  not 
blindly  shut  their  ey£s,  rannot  miss  it;  just  as  the  prophet  Isaiah 
foretold  of  the  Church  3r  Christ,  '  And  a  path  and  a  way  shall 
be  there,  and  it  shalWre  called  the  holy  way:  the  .unclean  shall 
not  pass  over  it;  and  this  shall  be  unto  you  a  straight  way,  so 
that  fools  shall  not  err  therein. '§  But  let  us  take  one  thing  at  a 
time,  and  go  on  with  the  Apostles'  Creed.  From  whom  did  you 
learn  the  creed  V 

"  I  learnt  it  from  my  mother,  poor  soul." 

"  And  from  whom  did  she  learn  ill" 

"  Why,  I  reckon  from  her  father  or  mother,  or  from  the  par- 
son." 

"  Exactly  so ;  and  thus  we  go  back  from  son  to  father,  for 
three  hundred  years,  when  we  come  to  the  first  Protestants. 
Now,  I  ask  you,  from  whom  did  the  first  Protestants  get  it  V 

"  Eh !  I  see  what  you  would  be  at,"  said  the  sick  man,  with 
a  ghastly,  yet  artless  smile  upon  his  lips.  "  Why,  they  must 
have  got  it  from  the  Catholics." 

"So  they  did,  just  as  they  got  the  Bible;  nnd  the  Catholics 
received  the  Apostles'  Creed  and  the  Bible  equally  from  the 
Apostles,  and  have  handed  them  down  from  father  to  son,  to  the 
present  day;  while  the  pastors  of  the  Church  took  care  that 
nothing  should  be  changed  in  the  one  or  the  other,  and  this  hand- 
ing down.  Catholics  call  Tradition  ;  without  which,  you  see,  you 
could  not  be  sure  of  your  Bible." 

"  1  see,  I  see,"  said  Smith,  musing  as  if  a  new  light  had  bro- 
ken in  upon  his  mind.  After  a  considerable  pause,  the  sick 
man,  casting  a  wistful  look  towards  the  father,  said — 

'  Pray,  Sir,  go  on,  if  it  be  not  too  troublesome." 

"  With  the  greatest  pleasure,  my  good  friend.     Do  you  re- 
•  Matt,  xxviii.  19.  t  Matt.  vii.  1i 

1  2  Petor  ii.  J  $  Is.  jc.vcv  8. 


1'ATIIKR  OSWALIJ.  9 

inember  one  article  of  the  Apostles'  Creed,  whore  it  is  said,  '  1 
believe  the  Holy  Catholic  Church  1"  " 

"  I  remember  it  verv  well,  and  I  have  often  wondered  why 
we  Protestants  were  taught  to  believe  the  Holy  Catholic  Church, 
while  they  tell  us  that  the  old  Catholic  Church  was  corrupted 
by  all  sorts  of  abominations." 

"lAvill  tell  you,"  said  Father  Oswald :  ''the  creed  was  too 
well  known  by  all  the  people,  and  they  could  not  change  it. 
Now,  if  the  creed  be  as  true  as  the  Bible,  there  has  always  been 
a  Huly  Catholic  Church ;  how,  then,  could  a  Holy  Church  be 
L'led  with  all  sorts  of  abominations  V 

"  That  could  not  be,  it  stands  to  reason,"  said  Smith. 

"  And  if  we  are  to  believe  that  Church,"  continued  F:ith« 
Oswald,"  "  it  could  not  lend  us  into  error,  otherwise  we  should 
be  obliged  to  believe  a  lie." 

"  True,  I  see  it  now  clearer  than  ever,  and  I  long  very  much 
to  know  something  more  about  the  Catholic  Church,  or,  as  the 
creed  calls  it,  the  Hull/  Catholic  Church,  for  I  begin  to  see  it 
must  be  the  right  Church." 

"  I  will  satisfy  your  pious  curiosity  immediately.  Christ  be- 
ing God,  is  truth  itself,  his  words  can  therefore  never  fail.  He 
founded  the  tine  and  only  Church,  and  commissioned  St.  Peter 
and  the  Apostles  to  preach  and  teach  his  gospel  to  all  nations, 
promising  to  be  wiih  them  '  all  days,'  and  promising  to  send  on 
them  the  Holy  Ghost,  to  teach  them  all  things,  and  to  lead  the/n 
into  all  truth;  now,  with  the  successors  of  St.  Peter  and  the 
Apostles,  must  remain  the  true  faith,  and  it  is  to  them  we  must 
apply  to  find  it." 

"  And  where  are  we  to  turn  to  find  them  1"  sakl  Smith, 
anxiously. 

"  To  the  ministers  of  the  Holy  Catholic  Church,  mentioned 
in  the  creed,  and  which  existed  fifteen  hundred  years  before  Pro- 
testants were  heard  of:  this  Church  teaches  the  same  truths  the 
Apostles  taught ;  it  is  founded  on  a  rock,  and  Jesus  has  declared, 
'The  gates  of  hell  shall  never  prevail  against  it;'  ;md  :t  is  by 
its  decisions  we  are  to  know  what  is  true  faith,  and  not  by  our 
own  explanations  of  the  Bible ;  that  is,  as  we  receive  the  Bible 
from  the  Church,  we  must  receive  the  true  sen^e  of  the  Bible 
from  the  same  Church,  for  if  we  givea  wrongsense  to  the  Bible, 
it  is  no  longer  the  Word  of  God,  hut  the  word  of  man." 

"Aye,"  said  Smith,  '•  thnt  stands  to  reason;  and  now  I  see 
why  so  many  Protestant  ministers,  all  pretending  to  the  Bible, 
preach  such  different  doctrines,  that  a  poor  man  knows  not 
which  is  right  and  which  isAvrong.  It  must  be  that  they  preach 
thcii  own  conceits,  and  not  the  Word  of  God." 


1 

.10  FATHER  OSWALD. 

"  So  it  is,  unfortunately,"  replied  the  father;  "but  from  this 
•you  may  learn  a  useful  lesson  ;  that  it  is  more  necessary  to  have 
an  unerring  authority  to  hand  down  to  us  the  true  sense  of  the 
Bible,  than  to  hand  down  to  us  the  Bible  itself." 

"That  certainly  seems  very  plain,"  said  Smith, thoughtfully; 
''  for  there  can  be  but  one  truth,  and  the  true  Word  of  God  can- 
not say  yea  and  nay,  black  and  white,  of  the  same  thing;  and 
yet  Protestants  and  Methodists,  and  so  many  others  with  the 
:  Bible  in  their  hand,  all  think  quite  differently  one  from  another." 

"Exactly  so;  but  Catholics  all  think  alike;  with  them  theie 
'is  but  one  faith  through  all  the  nations  under  the  sun,  because 
they  do  not  follow  their  own  wild  interpretations  of  the  Scrip- 
ture, but  that  sense  which  has  been  always  held  by  the  Holy 
Catholic  Church." 

"  It  stands  to  reason,"  said  Smith,  "that  if  we  cannot  find  the 

•  irue  sense  of  the  Bible,  it  would  be  better  to  have  no  Bible  at 
all."     Then,  looking  earnestly  in  the  father's  face,  he  continued, 
"  Do  you  then  think,  Sir,  that  you  can  be  of  use  to  me  on  my 
death-bed,  and  teach  me  the  sure  way  of  going  to  Heaven  1" 

"  I  am  certain  of  it,  my  son  ;  as  certain  as  I  am  of  my  own 
existence.  I  will  come  and  visit  you,  and  explain  to  you  the 

•  Catholic  doctrines ;  and  I  think  when  you  shall  have  heard  a 
little  more,  you  shall  be  much  happier  than  you  are  now." 

"  Oh  !  Sir,  I  can  never  thank  you  enough,  and  if  I  should  be 
satisfied  with  what  you  tell  me,  you  will  then,  perhaps,  do  for 
me  what  St.  James  has  ordered." 

"  I  trust  that  may  not  be  yet  necessary ;  but  should  it  be  so, 
I  will  not  fail,  please  God,  to  give  you  all  the  comforts  and 
helps  that  the  Catholic  Church  administers  to  her  departing 
children.  What  St.  James  describes  here  is  Extreme  Unction, 

'which  is  une  of  the  Sacraments  of  the  Church  administered  to 
dying  persons ;  but  now  I  shall  leave  you,  and  return  to-morrow 
morning.  In  the  meantime  be  of  good  courage,  and  raise  your 
thoughts  to  heaven,  earnestly  begging  the  divine  assistance  to 
direct  you'in  the  true  path,  and  may  God  Almighty  bless  you !'"' 
Smith  clasped  his  hands,  but  could  not  speak.  After  the 
father's  departure,  he  remained,  as  it  were,  in  a  profound  reverie 
(or  nearly  an  hour;  but  a  peace  and  a  calm  were  at  his  heart 

•which  in  his>whole life  he  had  never  experienced,  and  in  tha* 

estate  he  fell  asleep,  sweetly  reposing  in  the  arms  of  Divin* 

I  Providence. 


FATHKR  OSWALD. 


CHAPTER    III. 

" S'ill  thnu  orrest.  nor  end  wilt  find 

Of  erring,  i'rorn  tne  path  of  truth  remote." — MILTON 

THE  next  day  Smith  looked  with  an  ardent  wish  for  the  hour 
which  Father  Oswald  had  appointed  to  return;  the  hour  came 
find  passed,  and  another  and  another  hour  succeeded,  but  no 
Father  Oswald  appeared.  The  eveningshades  began  to  lengthen, 
and  a  cloud  of  despondency  passed  across  the  rnind  of  the  sick 
man ,  he  thought  himself  abandoned  by  all.  At  length  Father 
Oswald  made  his  appearance. 

"  Oh  !  Sir."  exclaimed  Smith,  "  how  glad  I  am  to  see  you,  1 
began  to  think  you  would  not  come  again,  because  I  am  a  her- 
etic ." 

"  My  son,"  said  the  father  gently,  "  I  have  been  unexpectedly 
detained  by  other  pressing  duties;  but  do  not  think  I  consider 
you  a  heretic.  I  can  distinguish  between  a  poor  man  who  errs 
through  ignorance  while  he  earnestly  seeks  the  truth,  and  tne 
man  to  whom  the  truth  has  been  sufficiently  made  known,  yet 
obstinately  adheres  to  his  errors,  and  shuts  his  eyes  against  the 
noonday  sun.  This  latter  only  I  call  a  heretic." 

''  God  knows,  Sir,  I  have  honestly  sought  alter  the  truth,''  said 
Smith,  sighing. 

"And  God  will  bring  you  to  it."  added  the  father. 

"  I  hope  so,  indeed!"  ejaculated  Smith.  "  Well,  Sir.  I  ha\*o 
been  considering  all  this  long  day  on  what  you  told  me  yester- 
day about  the  Catholic  Church:  but  I  do  not  know  exactly  the 
right  meaning  of  Catholic.  I  have  been  thinking — " 

"  Catholic,  my  good  friend,  means  universal." 

"  Aye,  so  I  have  been  taught;  then,  if  it  be  universal,  it  must 
take  in  all  sorts  of  Christians, — Church  of  England,  Presby- 
terians, Independents,  Baptists,  Methodists,  Quakers,  Shakers, 
Ranters,  Jumpers,  and  five  or  six  score  more." 

"  I  think,"  said  Father  Oswald,  smiling.  "  you  will  find  it 
rather  difficult  to  cram  all  these  into  one  Church,  or  to  pen  them 
into  one  fold.  Were  you  to  attempt  a  union  like  this,  you  would 
only  build  up  a  new  Babel  of  jarring  opinions  and  confused 
tongues.  But  then  tell  me,  how  could  you  be.Lie>:e  such  a  mass 
of  contradictions  1" 

"  True,  true,"  said  Smith,  after  a  little  reflection.  "  We  can 
not  believe  yea  and  nay  of  the  same  thing,  that's  certain.  Now, 
Sir,  since  my  notion  of  a  universal  church  cannot  stand,  pray 
tell  me  its  true  meaning." 


12  F,U'1IEIS  OSWALD. 

<:  1  will  tell  you  from  your  Bible.  Let  us  turn  to  the  commis- 
sion whirl)  Jesus  Christ  gave  lo  his  Apostles,  to  plant  and  prop- 
agate his  Church,  and  we  .-.hall  soon  see  in  what  sense  He  in- 
tended it  to  be  Catholic,  or  universal.  '  All  power  is  given  tc 
me  in  heaven  and  in  earth.  Going,  therefore,  teach  3-0  all  na- 
Imns ;  baptizing  them  in  the  name  of  the  Father,  and  of  the 
Son,  and  of  the  Holy  Ghost ;  teaching  them  to  observe  nil 
tM>i,ifx  whatsoever  I  have  commanded  you;  and,  behold,  I  am 
v.-J!h  you  nil  day*,  even  to  the  consummation  of  the  world.'* 
First,  the  Church  established  by  Jesus  Christ  must  be  Catholic 
or  universal  with  respect  to  place — '  Teach  all  nations.'  " 

"I  see,  I  see,"  said  Smith,  '-and  I  see,  moreover,  that  no 
Protestant  sect  is  spread  over  all  nations." 

"  Secondly,  the  Church  must  be  Catholic  in  iloclriue, — '  teach- 
ing them  to  observe  all  things."  " 

"  I  see  it,  I  see  it;  but  to  be  able  to  teach  all  things,  it  must 
knov;r  all  things;  now  1  am  sure  the  Protestant  sects  either  do 
not  know,  or  do  not  teach  all  tilings  which  Christ  commanded 
to  1x3  observed,  otherwise  they  would  agree  in  all  things,  and 
not  teach  such  contradictions." 

"  Thirdly,  the  Church  must  be  Catholic  with  respect  lo  lime  ; 
— '•  Behold.  I  am  with  you  all  days,  even  to  the  consummation 
of  the  world." 

"  Let  me  see,"  said  Smith,  "  I  think  the  first  Protestants  be- 
gan about  three  hundred  years  since.  Nay,  I  remember,  the 
beginning  of  some:  the  Ranters,  the  New-lights,  and  the  Old- 
lights,  and  Johanna  Southcote  and  Dr.  Irving,  and  half  a  score 
more  ;  and  I  have  heard  my  father  tell  of  a  dozen  more  in  his 
lime.  None  of  these  can  belong  to  the  Catholic  Church  estab- 
lished by  Jesus  Christ." 

"Your  reflections,"  said  the  father,  "are  just  and  natural,  but 
take  notice  of  another  thing.  Christ  promises  to  be  with  his 
Apostles  '  all  days,  even  unto  the  end  of  time."  Now,  as  the 
Apostles  all  died  in  course  of  nature,  the  promise  of  Christ  ex- 
tends unto  all  their  successors,  the  l~ache,r$  of  the  Church  through 
all  days:  consequently,  as  long  as  Christ  is  with  the  great  body 
of  the  teachers  of  the  Church,  they  cannot  go  wrong,  nor  load 
as  into  error;  so  that  the  doctrine  of  the  Church  never  stands 
in  need  of  reform." 

"  I  see  it  clearly."  said  Smith  ;  "  so  that  all  that  a  poor  man 
has  to  do  is  to  inquire  what  the  Church  teaches,  and  he  is  sure 
to  learn  the  truth.  But,  Sir,  can  you  tell  me  why  we  are  called 
Protestants?" 

"  It  is  a  name  of  your  own  choosing.  Your  forefathers  called 
*  Malt,  xxviii.  .8,  19.  20. 


FATIIbR  OSWALD.  13 

themselves  Protestants  because  they  protested  against  the  doc- 
trine of  the  Holy  Catholic  Church ;— against  the  doctrine  of  that 
Church  which  had  existed  fifteen  hundred  years  in  the  quiet 
possession  of  the  promises  of  Christ." 

"Ah!  Sir,  that  was  an  ugly  beginning;  I  will  never  be  called 
a  Protestant  again,  but  I  think:  I  never  prn'eMzd." 

"  Formally  you  never  did,  lor  that  reason  1  never  called  you 
a  heretic  ;  I  only  considered  you  as  erring  through  ignorance. 
But  mind,  if  you  blindly  shut  your  eyes  against  the  light  of 
truth,  which  you  now  begin  to  see,  you  may  easily  become  au 
obstinate  heretic." 

';  I  trust  in  God,"  said  Smith  with  a  deep  sigh,  "  that  will 
never  become  my  misfortune." 

"  I  am  confident  it  never  will,'  said  Father  Oswald,  rising 
"but  it  is  growing  late;  to-morrow  I  hope  to  see  you  at  an  ear- 
'ier  hour ;  so,  good  night,  and  may  God  bless  you.'' 

Father  Oswald  continued  daily  to  visit  William  Smith,  and  to 
explain  to  him  simply  and  distinctly  the  faith  and  doctrines  of  the 
Catholic  Church.  It  was  not  long  before  Smith,  with  a  full 
conviction  of  the  truth  of  that  Church,  was  received  into  its 
bosom.  He  made  the  confession  of  his  sins  and  his  abjuration 
with  great  courage  ;  and  having  received  the  Holy  Communion 
and  Confirmation,  had  only  to  regret  not  having  known  the 
truth,  nor  having  experienced  these  consolations  before.  He 
sought  the  true  iaith  with  a  simple  and  upright  heart,  and  to 
such  God  never  denies  the  knowledge  of  it ;  hi.s  intellect  was 
not  obscured  by  worldliuess  and  vice,  nor  warped  by  human 
respects;  so  that  when  the  truth  of  the  Catholic  iaith  was 
clearly  apprehended  by  his  understanding,' his  will  joyfully  em- 
braced it.  Many  there  are, — alas!  a  countless  many, — who 
know  and  feel  where  the  one  true  faith  is,  and  either  refuse, 
neglect,  or  delay  to  embrace  it,  from  human  respects,  from  fear 
oi  what  the  world  may  say,  or  from  the  numberless  impedi- 
ments of  \vorldliness,  luxury,  and  vice ;  but  when  eternity  suc- 
ceeds to  Ime,  how  will  they  then  bitterly  regret  not  having  em- 
braced tlK,  '  one  faith  of  the  one  God !' 

Emma  Sefton,  in  the  meantime,  continued  her  visits  of  charity 
to  Smith,  and  in  his  humble  cottage  she  met  and  became  ac- 
quainted with  Father  Oswald.  She  often  sat  awhile,  and  lis- 
tened to  his  explanations  and  instructions,  and  she  was  much 
surprised  to  perceive  the  extreme  change  in  Smith  after  he  be- 
came a  Catholic.  The  air  of  tranquillity  and  peace  which 
beamed  in  every  word  and  look,  even  amidst  great  suffering, 
struck  her  forcibly  in  contrast  with  the  restlessness  and  misery 
of  mind,  which  she  had  continually  observed  in  him  but  a  few 
2* 


14  FATHKlt  <"  \YALU 

short  months  before.  She  sr.id  j>  her  own  heart,  "Iwonaei 
what  can  be  the  cause  of  thisl  aiU  I  wonder,  too,  that  Father 
Oswald,  and  even  Smith  now,  sti'.a  so  quite  certain  that  the 
Cai/iolic  fai'k  is  the  only  true  and  iv.il  one.  I  wish  I  could  feei 
FO  very  very  certain  as  they  seem  to  ,*)?,  that  the  Church  of  Eng- 
land  is  the  only  true  Church — but,  a.'kr  all,  it  is  not  of  such 
great  consequence  whether  one  is  a  FiUv^stant  or  a  Catholic,  as 
long  as  one  is  good ;  Harriet  always  say*  so.  My  father,  to  be 
sure,  was  a  Catholic,  but  my  mother  w.w  a  Protestant,  and  my 
husband  is  an  excellent  Protestant,  and,  tt'  course,  I  ought  to  be 
what  he  is ;  however,  if  I  feel  more  uivosy,  I  will  ask  him 
about  it,  or  perhaps  Dr.  Davison."  Tht  Harriet  to  whom  in 
her  soliloquy  she  alluded,  was  sister  to  Mr.  Sefton,  and  lived 
with  them  ;  she  was  an  easy -tempered,  fat,  ivntented  lady,  abom 
forty,  who,  when  religion  was  the  topic,  alwa/"  said,  "  It  is  lit- 
tle matter  of  what  religion  people  are,  as  lorn',  vs>  they  are  Chris- 
tians and  do  no  harm."  Her  idea  of  Christianity  was  mosl 
comprehensive,  not  excluding  the  Jew  or  tlw  Mussulman.  01 
even  the  Papist,  provided  they  lived  up  to  their  principles,  and 
did  no  harm.  She  had,  moreover,  a  strong  ting",  of  superstition 
in  her  character,  and  readily  gave  credit  to  ome^i,  dreams,  and 
fortune-tellers.  The  point  which  had  most  struck"  Mrs.  Selton 
in  what  little  she  had  heard  Father  Oswald  eiyOain  of  the 
Catholic  faith,  was  the  doctrine  of  the  real  presenvV.  of  the  Sa- 
viour in  the  Eucharist  and  of  Transubstantiation.  She,  with 
the  generality  of  Protestants,  had  always  looked  up".'.\  the  sacra- 
ment as  a  commemoration,  and  when  she  had  taken  kt,  her  sim- 
ple idea  was  that  she  had  done  a  pious  action,  to  p-U  her  in 
mind  of  the  Redeemer.  To  1«  sure,  she  had  heard  A, -.me  Pro- 
testants, and  even  some  of  the  clergy,  say,  that  the}  lolieved 
some  sort  of  a  real  presence,  not  easily  defined ;  but  vhe  had 
never  reflected  on  the  foundations  of  their  opinion,  \i\d  hat' 
always  turned  away  her  thoughts  from  it  as  a  most  inc. mpre 
hensible,  nay,  repulsive  idea.  When  she  heard  Father  I'.v.tvalt 
clearly  explain  and  maintain,  that  unless  "we  eat  tk-  fl.c>;\  ant 
drink  /A-.1  Slond  of  the  Son  of  God,  we  cannot  have  life  in  v.  ,"• 
she  lelt  extremely  uneasy,  and  began  to  wonder  thnt  it  had  iv.va 
struck  her  in  that  light  before,  though  she  had  read  the  Senpli  \  n 
so  often.  She  was  timid  of  speaking  to  her  husband  aboul  u. 
because  his  prejudices  against  Popery  were  very  violent,  aij. 
her  father  having  been  a  Catholic  madeherstill  more  backwar.-' 
to  open  her  mind  to  him.  Having  several  of  her  father's  books, 
he  wever,  she  determined  to  examine  them  ibr  further  explana- 
tion. Amongst  them  she  found  some  books  of  controversy,  and 
*  John  vi.  54 


FATHER  OSWALD.  J5 

the  explanations  of  the  doctrine  of  Transnbstantiation  given 
therein  were  so  clear,  that  her  difficulties  about  the  Protestant 
opinion  were  redoubled.  She  was,  at  this  time,  in  daily  expec- 
tation of  the  arrival  of  her  uncle.  General  Russell,  from  the 
Peninsula,  where  he  had  been  absent  in  the  wars  many  yr.ars. 
The  General  was  a  Catholic,  and  a  very  staunch  one;  in  early 
l.'le.  he  had  the  misfortune  to  lose  a  wile  and  an  only  child,  to 
whom  he  was  fondly  attached.  To  divert  his  grief,  he  entered 
the  army,  where  he  soon  became  distinguished  by  his  braver}'. 
Now  he  wished  to  return  and  end  his  days  on  his  hereditary 
estate,  ten  miles  distant  from  Sefton  Hall.  The  general  was  of 
a  generous  and  open  character,  the  avowed  enemy  of  all  irre- 
ligion  ;  .having  all  his  life  openly  practised  and  defended  his 
own  faith,  and  the  rites  of  his  own  church,  he  would  as  soon 
have  surrendered  to  the  enemy  the  outworks  of  the  fortress  un- 
der his  command  as  he  would  have  yielded  the  practices  of 
iirosses.  beads,  relics,  and  holy-water,  to  his  Protestant  antago 
nist.  He  used  to  say  to  the  divines  of  his  own  church,  "  Take 
you  charge  of  the  citadel ;  leave  the  advance  posts  to  my  de- 
fence; lean  easily  disperse  the  rabble  scouts  of  the  enemy.' 
He  had  employed  much  both  of  his  leisure  and  talents  in  detect- 
ing the  absurdities  and  inconsistencies  of  Protestantism,  which, 
from  his  uncommonly  quick  perception  of  the  absurd  and  ridicu- 
lous, cai.x;d  the  foil iesof  the  Reformation  frequently  to  come  un- 
der his  good-natured,  though  keen  and  just  sarcasm.  From  the 
time  Emma  began  to  feel  uneasy  on  the  subject  of  faith,  sne  be- 
came still  more  anxious  for  the  arrival  of  her  uncle ;  and  about 
a  month  from  the  commencement  of  her  acquaintance  wkh 
Father  Oswald,  he  arrived,  to  the  no  small  joy  of  both  parties. — 
He  was  much  rejoiced  at  seeing  again  the  niece  whom  he  had 
left  a  laughing  sportive  child,  and  who  was  now  almost  his  only 
relative  ;  and  she,  because  she  hoped  to  find  in  him  a  fiiend  anil 
adviser  in  many  difficulties,  being  nearly  the  only  relation  re- 
maining to  her  since  the  death  of  her  mother.  But  we  mua> 
.eave  the  general  to  speak  for  himself  in  the  next  chapter. 


16  FATHER  OSWALD. 


CHAPTER    IV. 

"  A  merrier  man, 

Within  the  limits  of  becoming  mirth, 
I  never  spent  an  hour's  talk  withal."—  SHAKSPEARB. 

BESIDES  the  general  and  Harriet,  there  dined  at  Sefton  Hall 
nettday  Dr.  Daviaon.  It  was  not  unusual  with  the  person, 
who  was  a  sleek,  rosy,  pompous  personage,  to  visit  the  heiter 
classes  of  his  parishioners  about  the  hour  of  dinner ;  soil  hap- 
pened this  day,  and  as  Mr.  Sefton  hnd  long  wished  to  give  him 
a  hint  about  Smith,  he  was  not  sorry  for  it.  During  dinner,  the 
general  entertained  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Sefton  with  m;iny  interesting 
accounts  oi'what  he  had  seen  and  observed  in  Portug 1 ;  r,d  Spain, 
whilst  Dr.  Davison  as  closely  interested  Harriet  will,  an  nc- 
sount  of  his  morning  sport,  and  particularly  by  describing  with 
what  masterly  art  he  had  hooked  a  fine  salmon  trout,  and  fought 
with  it  for  an  hour,  regretting  very  much  he  had  not  sent  it  to 
the  Hall  for  this  joyful  occasion.  Harriet,  in  a  sort  of  half- 
con  fidenti.il  tone,  consulted  the  doctor  on  a  strange  dream  which 
she  had  had  a  few  nights  before,  and  which,  she  greatly  feared, 
foreboded  no  good.  The  doctor  tried  to  turn  off  the  discourse, 
but  was  obliged  to  listen  to  the  whole  details.  He  became  quite 
fklgetty,  and  in  his  hurry  to  get  rid  of  the  annoyance,  overturned 
the  salt.  "  Be  not  alarmed,"  said  lie,  in  a  low  tone,  observing 
Harriet  change  colour;  "you  see  the  salt  fell  towards  me,  so  to 
me  the  evil  betides  "  This  assurance  satisfied  the  good  lady, 
and  Mr.  Sefton,  challenging  him  to  a  glass  of  wine,  commenced 
his  premeditated  attack  about  Smith. 

"  It  has  given  me  great  concern,  my  dear  Dr.  Davison,"  said 
he,  "  that  you  should  have  lost  one  of  your  parishoners.'' 

••  Indeed !  I  was  not  aware  of  it ;  who  is  gone  to  the  next 
world  now." 

"  Not  to  the  next  world,  not  to  the  next  world ;  worse  than 
that — gone  over  to  Popery  !" 

"  Oh,  my  dear  Sir,"  said  the  doctor,  "  I  understand  you  r_c^v 
— you  m<^n  that  man,  Smith.  Well,  well,  no  great  loss  ;iO 
was  never  a  strict  Protestant ;  but  was  always  poking  his  i.osi 
into  some  meeting-house,  or  chapel,  or  conventicle." 

"Well,  Sir,"  said  Edward,  with  much  seriousness,  "if  you 
had  visited  him,  as  he  so  particularly  wished,  during  his  illness, 
the  parish  would  not  have  had  this  scandal;  it  is  an  occurrence 
infinitely  to  be  regretted." 

The  doctor  turned  very  red,  '"a1,  l^fore  his  mouJi  v>>Ji  suffi- 
liently  empty  to  answer,  Emrrsi  "\\\d  soothingly — 


FATHER  OSWALD.  1" 

"  It  was  very  natural,  I  think,  that  the  poor  man  should  be- 
come a  Catholic,  considering  the  great  and  kind  attentions  paid 
to  him  by  Father  Oswa'.d." 

"Call  no  man  on  earth,  in  that  sense,  Father,  Ma'am,"  said 
the  Doctor  gravely; — '-these  are  words  of  Scripture." 

Emma  blushed. 

"I  beg  pardon,  Doctor,  Mr. ;    really,  Sir,  I  know  not 

how  to  call  you,"  exclaimed  the  general;  " for  Christ  forbids 
me.  in  the  same  place  to  call  you  Rabbi,  that  is,  doctor  or  mas- 
ter." 

"  Humph,"  said  the  doctor  gruffly. 

"  You  lorget,  General,"  interrupted  Edward,  "that  the  Lord 
hath  g;ven  some  doctors  to  his  Church,  and  Paul  calls  himselt 
Ihe  doctor  of  the  Gentiles." 

"  True,"  answered  the  general ;  ':  and  he  calls  himself  Ihe 
only  Father  of  the  Corinthians  in  very  energetic  terms."" 

The  doctor  reddened  with  anger. 

"  You  profane  the  Scripture." 

"  i  only  follow  your  example,  my  good  friend,"  answered  tne 
general.  Now,  tell  me,  Doctor,  would  you  scruple  to  be  called 
the  Right  Reverend  Father  in  God  the  Lord  Bishop  of  so-and- 
so,  if  such  a  windfall  were  to  happen  1" 

Dr.  Davison  put  on  a  sanctified  face,  and  was  about  to  answer, 
when  Edward  interrupted  him  by  saying — 

"  Before  you  answer  that  puzzling  question,  Dr.  Davison,  per- 
haps you  will  explain  to  me  your  objection  to  visiting  the  sick." 

"  My  dear  Mr.  Sefton,"  exclaimed  the  doctor,  li  what  objec- 
tion can  I  have  to  visit  the  sick,  especially  at  their  last  hour,  it 
they  should  wish  to  take  the  sacrament ;  hut  what  more  can  one 
do  for  them  1  besides,  they  have  their  Bibles,  and  Christ  orders 
them  to  '  search  the  Scriptures.'  " 

"  Oh !  oh !"  said  the  general,  "  but  if  people  are  to  search  the 
Scriptures  for  themselves,  of  what  use  are  the  parsons']" 

Harriet  laughed. 

"ButI  understand  you  well  enough,"  continued  he;  "you 
gentlemen  of  the  clerical  gown  consider  that  text  as  the  broad 
stone  on  which  your  Protestant  fortress  is  built." 

'•  Yes,  General  Russell"  said  the  doctor,  getting  quite  roused, 
"  it  is  the  broad  stone  of  Protestantism  on  which  our  impregna- 
ble Church  is  built." 

"  Well,  Dr.  Davison,"  said  the  general  quietly,  "  I  belong  to 
a  Church  which  Christ  founded  on  a  very  different  rock:  I 
should  feel  very  little  scruple  in  sapping  your  loundation,  ana 
a  train  ol  gunpowder  under  it." 
•  1  Cor.  iv.  15. 


18  FATHER  OSWALD. 

"Aye,  aye/'  exclaimed  the  doctor,  -that's  aiways  the  way 
with  you  Papists  ;  all  your  arguments  end  in  blowing  up  with 
gunpowder." 

"  I  imagine,  Doctor,"  interposed  Mr.  Sefton,  "  the  general  was 
only  speaking  metaphorically." 

"  Metaphorically,  to  be  sure,"  said  the  general ;  "  in  the  styl; 
of  an  old  soldier." 

"Nevertheless,"  continued  Mr.  Sefton,  "  I  have  always  con- 
sidered that  text  of  Scripture  as  an  unanswerable  argument  in 
support  of  the  Protestant's  right  to  read  the  Bible,  and  of  course 
to  lorm  his  own  opinion  of  what  he  reads." 

"Yes,"  said  the  doctor,  pompously  raising  his  voice  with  all 
the  dignity  of  sell-sufficiency  ;  '•  the  Bible,  the  Bible  alone  is 
the  religion  of  Protestants  ;  as  long  as  the  Protestant  shall  hold 
the  Bible,  the  palladium  of  his  liberty,  so  long  may  he  defy  the 
efforts  of  hell  and  popery!  That  is  the  charter  of  his  rights, 
sealed  with  the  broad  seal  ot  Heaven,  and  bearing  impressed 
in  indelible  characters  the  high  behest  of  God,  '  Search  the 
Scriptures.'  " 

"  Hold,  my  good  friend,"  called  out  the  general ;  "  let  not 
your  enthusiasm  carry  you  beyond  the  bounds  of  discretion ; 
allow  me  to  put  in  a  word  or  two.  If  I  understand  you  rightly, 
you  maintain  that  Christ  in  these  words  gives  an  express  cnm- 
manil.  to  all  men,  women,  and  children,  to  the  learned  divine 
and  to  the  unwashed  artificer,  to  search  the  Scriptures,  and  con- 
sequently to  judge  for  himself,  to  form  his  own  creed,  to  believe 
or  to  disbelieve  whatever  he  may  think  conlbrmable  or  con- 
trary to  that  sacred  code,  otherwise  the  search  would  be  to  no 
purpose  V 

"  Certainly,  certainly,'  said  the  Doctor. 

"  Excepting,"  interrupted  Edward,  ';  that  all  strict  Protestants 
must  believe  the  Thirty-nine  Articles." 

"  Now,  it  appears  to  me,"  continued  the  general,  "  that  the 
obvious  and  latal  consequences  of  such  a  mode  of  proceeding 
suffice  to  make  a  prudent  mind  doubt,  if  Christ,  in  his  wisdom, 
fver  gave  such  a  command." 

"  But  it  is  written  in  the  Scriptures,  Sir,  said  Emma.'1 

"  Yes,  my  dear  niece,  it  is  written  there,  and  having  heard 
so  many  Protestants  quote  it,  I  have  particularly  examined  this 
passage  with  a  learned  Catholic  divine :  now,  in  the  English 
version,  the  verb  sm-rck  is  rendered  in  the  imper,  live  mood, 
which  may  indeed,  but  dues  not  absolutely,  imply  a  command: 
in  the  Greek  original,  the  verb  is  of  such  form,  th;;t  it  is  the 
same  in  the  indicative  and  in  the  imperative  mood.  I  have  now 
a  choice  before  me,  and  the  Latin  Vulgate,  which  often  throws 


FATHER  OSWALD.  19 

a  Jight  upon  ihe  ambiguous  expressions  of  the  Greek,  unfortu- 
nately in  this  instance  is  equally  ambiguous  with  the  Greek; 
so,  both  being  equally  mute,  I  cannot  catch  i'rom  either  the  tone 
of  command  which  might  determine  me  to  receive  the  text,  in 
the  imperative  mojd.  I  am  now  left  to  conjecture  :  I  study  the 
context,  and  find  that  either  mood  suits  wonderfully  well.  I  am 
therefore  left  to  a  tree  choice;  but  as  our  choice  is  usually  in- 
fluenced by  our  liking  or  our  prejudices,  I  prefer  to  render  the 
passage  in  the  indicative  mood  thus:  '  Ye  search  the  Scriptures; 
lor  in  them  ye  think  ye  have  eternal  life ;  and  they  are  they 
wmch  rectify  of  me,  and  ye  will  not  come  unto  me,  that  ye 
might  have  life.'  Now,  in  this  form  it  looks  much  more  like 
a  severe  reproach  to  the  learned  Rabbis  of  the  Synagogue,  than 
a  command  to  Christians;  therefore,  Sir,  before  I  admit  your 
command,  you  must  prove  to  me  that  my  version  is  wrong;  this 
I  defy  you  to  do,  and  until  you  have  done  it,  you  must  consider 
the  broad  seal  of  your  charter  torn  away,  and  the  broad  stone 
of  your  Protestant  fortress  blown  up  to  the  devil." 

"  Oh!  dear  uncle,"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Sefton,  "  do  not  use  that 
wicked  word." 

"  Emma,"  said  the  general,  "  I  know  of  no  respect  due  to  the 
devil's  name.  Really,  I  do  not  know  whither  I  can  more  prop- 
erly send  the  whole  system,  '  which  changes  the  truth  of  God 
into  a  lie,'  than  to  its  own  father."* 

Mrs.  Sefton  blushed,  half  mortified  at  the  rebuke  and  hall 
conscious  that  she  had  been  "  straining  out  aguat,  and  swallow- 
ing a  camel/' 

'•  But,"  said  Edward,  "  according  to  what  you  say,  the  Ca- 
tholic version  also  renders  the  text  in  the  imperative  mood." 

"  The  Catholic  version  gives  what  answers  for  both,  and 
leaves  us  the  free  choice  of  either,  because  Catholics  do  not 
build  their  faith  on  the  ambiguous  reading  of  a  Greek  or  Latin 
verb." 

"  You  allow  at  least,  that  the  Protestant  version  may  be  right  V 
said  Edward. 

"  Most  freely ,  out  I  cannot  allow  that  any  man  acts  wisely, 
who  grounds  his  faith  cr  risks  his  salvation  on  the  toss  up  of  a 
shilling,  where  there  is  an  equal  chance  of  its  turning  up  heac. 
or  tail,"  answered  the  general. 

"  What,  exclaimed  Doctor  Davison  angrily,  "  do  you  deny 
that  a  man  who  searches  the  Scriptures  with  a  sincere  heart 
will  find  therein  eternal  life?" 

"  It  is  not  tor  me  to  judge  the  sincerity  of  any  man's  heait," 
answered  the  general  coolly,  "  nor  to  set  limits  to  the  mercy  of 
*  Rom  j.  25. 


20  FATHER  OSWALD. 

God.  I  am  only  now  contending  that  to  search  the  Scripture 
in  the  Protestant  meaning  is  not  only  no  command  of  God,  bui 
is  attended  with  very  fatal  consequences." 

"  That  I  defy  you  or  any  other  Papist  to  prove,"  said  the. 
doctor  doggedly.  "But,  my  dear  Sir,"  continued  the  geneia!, 
"daily  experience  sufficiently  proves  these  fatal  consequences; 
are  not  thousands  continually  searching  the  Scriptures,  'ever 
learning1  and  never  attaining  to  the  knowledge  of  the  truth  1"* 
But  come;  for  the  sake  of  argument,  as  the  chances  are  equal, 
I  will  suppose  that  the  Protestant  version  is  right." 

"  Bravo  !"  exclaimed  Edward. 

"  Bravo  '"  reiterated  the  doctor. 

i:But,  remember,"  continued  the  general,  "this  supposition 
affords  but  quaggy  ground  to  lay  a  foundation  on.  However, 
we  will  read,  '  Search  the  Scriptures :'  still,  I  can  see  in  these 
words  of  Christ  nothing  like  a  command  laid  on  any  Christian 
to  read  and  search  the  Scriptures,  and  I  defy  any  Protestant  to 
prove  such  a  command." 

"Why,  my  dear  Sir,"  said  the  doctor,  "the  words  are  as 
clear  as  the  noon-day  sun." 

"  No  doubt,"  said  the  general,  "  but  to  whom  were  they 
addressed  1" 

"  To  all  men :  who  can  doubt  it  7"  answered  the  doctoi 
decidedly. 

"  I  doubt  it,"  said  the  general,  "  and  you  shall  hear  my  reasons 
for  doubting  it.  Read  with  attention  the  whole  context.  Jesus 
had  healed  the  infirm  man  at  the  probatic  pond,  on  the  Sabbath 
day.  For  this  the  Jews  persecuted  Jesus,  'because  he  did  no' 
only  break  the  Sabbath,  but  also  said  God  was  His  Father, 
making  Himself  equal  to  God.'  Christ  asserts  His  divinity  in 
the  most  unequivocal  manner.  John  had  given  testimony  to 
this  truth ;  but  Christ  received  not,  needed  not,  the  testimony 
of  men,  not  even  that  of  the  Baptist.  But  he  appealed  to  the 
testimony  of  God  manifested  by  miracles  and  jirnpkecv  ;  '  But  I 
have  a  greater  testimony  than  that  of  John.  For  the  works 
which  the  Father  hath  given  me  to  perfect,  the  works  themselves 
which  I  do,  give  testimony  of  me,  that  the  Father  hath  sent  me.' 
He  then  appeals  to  the  Scriptures,  to  Moses  and  the  Prophets, 
who  had  foretold  so  many  things  concerning  him :  '  Search  the 
Scriptures,  for  you  think  in  them  to  have  life  everlasting,  and 
the  same  are  they  Ihnt  give,  testimony  of  mi'.'  Now,  in  all  this 
I  cr.n  see  nothing  but  a  simple  appeal  to  the  evidences  of  the 
Old  Testament,  the  authority  of  which  the  Jews  admitted  ;  or, 
if  I  mnsJ  admit  a  command,  it  was  given  to  the  Jews,  to  l.h« 
*  2  Tin.  iii  7 


FATHER  OSWALD.  21 

Sciibes  and  Pharisees  who  persecuted  Jesus,  and  who  neither 
believed  in  the  Saviour  on  the  testimony  of  his  miracles,  nor 
on  the  testimony  of  Moses :  '  For  if  you  did  believe  Aloses,  you 
•would  perhaps  believe  me  also;  lor  he  wrote  of  me  ;'  but  in  all 
this  I  can  see  nothing  applicable  to  Christian;." 

The  doctor  groaned. 

"The  Saviour,"  continued  the  general,  "  is  not  addressing 
his  Apostles  as  disciples;  he  lays  down  no  rule  of  doctrine, 
either  how  they  aro  to  find  out  the  truth  themselves,  or  how 
"hey  are  to  teach  it  to  others;  to  thc-m  and  to  all  Christians  he 
holds  a  very  different  language :  '  Go  and  teuc.t  all  nations ;' 
1  He  who  hears  you,  hears  me ;'  '  He  who  will  not  hear  the 
Church,  let  him  be  to  thee  as  the  hesthen  and  the  public;  n.'  " 

"  You  have  ceitainly  taken  a  new  view  of  the  subject,"  said 
Edward  thoughtfully;  "  I  should  not  have  suspected  you,  Sir,  of 
being  so  conversant  with  the  Bible." 

Tne  general  bowed  ami  continued  :  "  You  should  also  reflect 
that  Christ  only  addressed  the  learned  amongst  the  Jews,  ibr 
the  bulk  of  the  people,  Like  the  greatest  portion  of  Christians 
for  many  centuries,  did  not  know  how  to  read,  and  therefore 
could  not  search  the  Scriptures  Certainly,  there  were  no  Sun- 
iay-sehools  in  those  dark  ages,"  added  he  with  a  smile. 

"  What  a  pity,"  said  Mrs.  Sefton,  h.ilf  earnestly,  half  archly  , 
"  but  I  fear  there  are  no  records  oi  such  things  in  those  early 
times.1' 

"  No,"  answered  her  uncle,  "  you  are  right,  my  dear;  ana 
did  not  the  Jews  when  they  heard  Jesus  teaching,  whom  they 
thought  to  be  the  son  of  an  humble  mechanic,  express  their 
wonder,  '  saying,  How  doth  this  man  know  letters,  having  never 
earned  T'*  It  is  thereibre  evident  that  Jesus  Christ  did  not 
m::ke  this  appeal  to  the  great  mass  of  the  illiterate  Jews ; 
neither  can  I  conceive  any  reason  why  Protestants  continually 
din  into  the  ears  of  the  illiterate  crowd,  '  Search  the  Scriptures,' 
unless  it  be  to  dupe  and  deceive  them.  Had  Jesus  Christ 
intended  that  the  world  shouid  learn  his  doctrine  from  a  o.^^, 
he  would  have  written  the  book  himself  in  a  plain,  easy  style, 
intelligible  to  the  meanest  capacity.  Instead  of  sending  his 
Apostles  to  preack  and  teach,,  he  would  have  givnn  them  the 
commission  to  teach  the  ignorant  their  ABC,  arid  when  they 
had  learned  to  read,  to  put  his  divine  book  into  their  hands,  and 
leave  them  to  themselves.  Then  we  should  have  read  in  the 
Acts  of  the  Apostles,  and  in  their  Epistles,  splendid  examples 
of  their  zeal  and  exertions  in  establishing  everywhere  Sunday- 
schools,  and  day-schools,  and  Bible  societies \"  Unfortunately, 
*  John  vii.  13. 


2  FATHER  OSWALD. 

we  find  no  traces  of  all  this  in  our  present  Bible.  Na/,  more, 
Jesus  Christ  should  have  instructed  his  disciples  in  tlw  useful 
art  of  pa  par-making,  and,  above  all,  he  should  have  revealed  to 
them  the  powerful  engine  of  the  printing-press ;  beca.fise  the 
demand  for  Bibles  would  have  been  so  great,  that  without  these 
twi  grand  discoveries,  it  would  have  been  impossible  to  furnish 
a  suiiicient  supply.  He  should  have  lelt  an  authentic  copy  ol 
his  divine  work  in  every  language  that  then  existed,  or  ever 
wauld  exist  to  the  end  of  time,  and  not  left  it  to  the  ignorance 
jr  nrJice  of  translators  to  impose  upon  the  credulous  their  own 
productions  for  his  Word." 

Here  Harriet  could  no  longer  refrain  from  laughing  outright; 
and  the  doctor  exclaimed  in  an  angry  tone — 

"  Stop,  Sir,  I  think  you  are  carrying  the  joke  too  far ;  the 
subject  is  too  serious  for  a  jest,  and  I  cannot  condescend  to  treat 
it  in  so  light  a  manner.  It  is  not  for  us  to  determine  what  Jesus 
Christ  should,  or  should  not  have  done;  we  ought  to  be  content 
with  what  he  has  done." 

"  I  perfectly  agree  with  you,"  answered  the  general ;  "  we 
ought  to  be  content  with,  what  h"  has  dime  ;  that  is  precisely  the 
point  in  question;  namely,  whether  Jesus  Christ  has  commanded 
us  to  search  the  Scriptures  or  to  hear  the  Church;  yet  I  can 
see  no  joke  in  demonstrating  the  absurd  consequences  which 
necessarily  flow  from  the  Protestant  principle;  but  why  do 
you  not  answer  the  reasons  I  have  brought  against  it  from 
Scripture  1" 

"  Why,  really,  Sir,"  said  Edward,  "  there  is  something  plau- 
sible in  them,  which,  I  confess  at  this  moment,  I  am  not  pre- 
pared to  answer."  Then  glancing  at  Dr.  Davison,  he  added 
— "  but  I  dare  say  the  learned  divines  of  our  Church  could  very 
easily  expose  their  sophistry." 

"  I  am  so  persuaded,"  said  the  doctor,  in  a  very  confident 
tone,  "  of  the  wisdom  and  holiness  of  our  principle,  that  I  shall 
ever  think  it  my  duty  to  bring  to  the  home  of  every  poor  man 
the  pure  Word  of  God ;  he  can  derive  nothing  but  holiness  and 
salvation  from  that  source  of  eternal  truth." 

"  My  dear  doctor,"  said  the  general,  smiling,  "  I  am  always 
delighted  when  I  catch  a  glimpse  of  Protestantism  in  reading 
the  Bible;  and  here  \ve  are  undoubtedly  fallen  upon  real  Bibli- 
cals.  The  Scribes  and  Pharisees  thought  they  could  find  life 
everlasting  in  the  holy  Scriptures.  Such,  undoubtedly,  was 
jheir  opinion,  as  it  is  the  opinion  of  modern  Protestants.  But 
ivhat  certainty  had  they  of  the  truth  of  that  opinion  ?  It  strikes 
me  that  Christ  reproves  their  overweening  confidence  in  that 
opinion,  when  he  says, '  Yc  think  in  them  to  have  everlasting 


KATHER  OSWALD.  3 

<IM»;'  if  Christ  meant  to  approve  of  their  system,  he  would 
uaturahy  have  said,  Ye  know,  or  ye  ought  to  know." 

"  General,  yoar  observations  are  rather  caustic,"  said  Mr. 
Sefton,  evidently  nettled,  "  and  we  cannot  receive  it  as  a  com- 
pliment to  be  compared  with  the  Scribes  and  Pharisees." 

"  I  mean  no  offence,  I  assure  you  ;  but  I  cannot  help  drawing 
comparisons  where  I  sae  a  striking  likeness." 

"  It  is  wonderful,"  observed  Mrs.  Selton,  with  a  half  sap- 
pressed  sigh,  "that  U.e  learned  Jewish  doctors,  who  were  so 
attached  to  the  holy  Scriptures,  and  so  studious  of  their  contents 
were  yet  unable  to  understand  the  testimonies  which  they  bore 
to  Christ;  how,  then,  shall  we  poor  creatures  ever  comprehend 
them  1" 

'•  Madam,"  said  the  doctor,  glad  of  the  occasion  to  change  the 
line  of  argument,  "the  Jewish  doctors  could  not  understand, 
because  they  would  not.  They  had  formed  to  themselves  a 
false  notion  of  the  expected  Messiah,  and  therefore  wrested  the 
plainest  texts  of  Scripture  to  their  own  preconceived  notions." 

"  Alas !"  said  Mrs.  Sei'ton,  "  is  not  this  evidently  the  case 
with  many  Protestant  sects  7" 

"  Undoubtedly  it  is,"  replied  Dr.  Davison, 1:  because  they  pay 
no  attention  to  the  luminous  expositions*  of  the  Bible,  which 
have  been  given  by  the  learned  divines  of  our  Church." 

"  It  is  a  frightful  spectacle,"  said  Mr.  Sefton  with  an  air  and 
lone  of  deep  regret,  '  to  behold  so  many  swarms  of  new  sects, 
rising  up  daily  around  us.  In  every  village  new  meeting- 
houses are  erected  and  every  illiterate  fanatic  quits  the  loom  or 
the  anvil,  and,  with  all  self-sufficiency,  mounts  the  pulpit  to  ex- 
plain to  the  stupid  crowd  the  deep  mysteries  of  revelation." 

"  Ave,"  said  the  doctor,  "that  is  the  greatest  plague  that  in- 
fests the  land;  it  bodes  no  good  to  the  Establishment.  Why 
cannot  the  idiots  be  contented  to  read  the  Bible  to  themselves  V 

'•  So,  gentlemen,"  exclaimed  the  general,  highly  delighted  at 
these  acknowledge.!  evils  of  indiscriminate  Bible  reading.  "  you 
abandon  the  Scripture  when  it  testifies  clearly  asrainst  you.  ;;nd 
seek  for  refuge  in  the  lenrning  o!  your  divines!  This  is  the 
usual  inconsistency  o:'  Protestantism.  But  since  you  are  deter- 
mined to  read  the  Bible,  and  to  put  it  into  the  hands  of  every 
unlc/i'-ifd  and  unsta'il"  mechanic,  you  must  abide  by  the  neces- 
sary coi, sequences.  Allow  me  to  address  you  in  scriptural 
language:  'Search  the  scriptures,  for  i/»u  ifiink  in  them  to 
have  li.'e  everlasting,  and  the  same  are  they  that  give  tes'.invmy 
against  you.'  Rend  what  St.  Peter  says  of  St.  Paul's  epistles, 
in  which  are  certain  things  /iar<l  to  A?  understoo-t,  which  tho 

*  Are  "  expositions" — "  luminous  e.'jxjsitioiis" — then  iiccc*saiy  .;  lEiiit.J 


24  FATHER  OSWALD. 

unlearned  and  unstable  wrest,  as  they  do  also  l.lic  other  scriptures, 
to  their  own  destruction.*  '  There  is  one  that  accuseth  you, 
Pe'er,  in  whom  you  trust ;  for  if  you  did  believe  Peter,  "you 
would  perhaps  believe  me  also/  After  this,  go  and  spread  your 
Bibles  through  the  land;  put  a  copy  into  every  work-shop  find 
every  hovel,  and  tell  the  gulled  and  gaping  multitude  that  they 
will  find  therein  eternal  life;  from  ray  soul  I  pity  them  ;  I  pity 
such  folly  and  blindness,  convinced  as  I  am  that  ninety-nine  in 
every  hundred  are  either  unlearned  or  nnslabk,  and  therefore 
must  meet  with  their  own  destruction." 

"  Bah  !  bah !"  replied  the  doctor  contemptuously ;  "  that  is  all 
mighty  fine  !  but  it  only  proves  the  cruel  and  persecuting  spirit 
of  popery,  that  would  keep  the  people  in  ignorance  and  dark- 
ness by  depriving  them  of  God's  Word ;  but  the  day  has  already 
dawned,  when,  by  the  glorious  efforts  of  the  school-master  and 
the  Bible  Society,  the  world  shall  open  its  eye.*  to  the  blaze  of 
truth,  and  disdain  the  brutalizing  yoke  01'  papal  authority,  im- 
posture, and  priestcraft." 

"  Sir,  I  have  done,''  said  the  general,  with  firmness  and  dig- 
nity. "  I  doubt  not  your  mind  is  too  much  cultivated  not  to 
know  that  the  rant  of  fanaticism  carries  no  conviction  ;  it  may 
mislead  the  vulgar,  who  never  reflect;  but,  upon  a  thinking 
mind,  it  can  produce  no  effect;  yet,"  added  lie,  in  a  melancholy 
lone,  "  I  ought  to  have  known  that  neither  the  clearest  evidence 
of  Scripture,  nor  the  dictates  of  common  sense,  nor  the  fatal 
experience  of  every  day,  were  ever  able  to  pluck  out  a  deep- 
rooted  prejudice.  I  shall  only  add  this  one  word  of  St  Paul's, 
'  And  when  they  agreed  not.  among  t/temsdres,-  they  departed;' 
Paul  speaking  these  words  •  '  Well  did  the  Holy  Ghost  speak 
to  our  fathers  by  Isaias,  the  Prophet,  saying,  Go  to  this  people, 
and  say  to  them,  With  the  ear  you  shall  hear,  and  shall  not  un- 
derstand; and  seeing,  you  shall  see,  and  shall  not  perceive 
For  me  heart  of  this  people  is  grown  gross  and  with  their  ears 
have  they  heard  heavily,  and  their  eyes  they  have  shut,  lest, 
perhaps,  they  should  see  with  their  eyes,  and  hear  with  their 
ears,  and  understand  with  their  heart,  and  should  be  converted, 
and  1  should  heal  them.'  "t 

There  was  a  dead  silence,  and  Mrs.  Sefton  proposed  adjourn- 
ing to  the  lawn  to  take  coffee.  As  Dr.  Davison  led  her  on,  he 
muttered,  in  a  half  whisper  to  her,  "  If  I  were  you,  Mrs.  Sefton, 
I  should  forbid  controversy  at  my  table,  for  it  sadly  spoils  the 
taste  of  the  vi.inds,  and  the  flavour  of  the  wines." 

Emma  smiled  rather  significantly ;  for  the  doctor  seemed  to 
nave  made  but  a  sorry  figure.    The  arguments  she  had  just 
*  2  Peter  iii  16.  t  Acts,  sxviii.  25.  20,  27 


FATHER  OSWALD.  25 

heard  her  uncle  use,  appeared  to  he-  conclusive  against  search- 
ing Scripture  for  ourselves,  and  interpreting  it  according  to  our 
individual  judgment.  The  question,  then,  naturally  suggested 
irselt  to  her  mind — Where  are  we  to  find  an  unerring  interpre- 
ter of  the  divine  word  1  and  who  is  appointed  to  explain  to  us, 
with  authority  from  God,  what  is  the  true  faith  which  he  re- 
q  lires  of  us  7  Belore  she  retired  to  rest  that  nigh:,  she  resolved 
ti  lake  means  of  clearing  up  her  doubts  on  this  point. 


CHAPTER    V. 

"  Why  should  this  worthless  tesument  ei.J«ue, 
If  it's  undying  quests  l>e  lost  ibr  ever  ? 
O  In  us  keep  the  soul  embalmed  and  pure, 
In  living  virtue,  that  wlx.'i)  lx>!h  must  sever, 
Although  corruption  may  our  flame  consume, 
The  iinino'rtal  spirit  in  the  skies  may  bloom  " 

NEW  MONTHLY  MAO 

A  PKW  weeks  after  this,  as  Mrs.  Sefton  and  Harriet  were 
strolling  along  the  village  one -beautiful  evening,  they  perceived 
the  door  of  Smith's  cottage  closed,  and  lights  gleaming  from 
the  window.  This  circumstance  surprised  them,  as  the  sun 
was  still  high  above  the  horizon,  and  the  evening  very  bright. 
Emma  proposed  paying  the  sick  man  a  visit,  to  which  Harriet 
readily  consented.  When  they  entered,  they  were  struck  with 
awe  at  perceiving  that  poor  Smith  was  evidently  drawing  to  his 
last  moment,  and  beholding  Father  Oswald  arrayed  in  his  sa- 
cerdotal habits  holding  the  Blessed  Sacrament  in  his  hand,  in 
the  act  of  administering  it  to  the  dying  man  as  his  viaticum. 
Near  the  bed-side  was  a  small  table  covered  with  a  clean  nap- 
kin, with  two  wax-candles  burning  on  either  side  of  a  crucifix, 
Leibre  which  was  placed  the  pyx  in  which  the  Blessed  Sacra- 
ment had  been  brought ;  there  were  also  the  sacred  vessels 
containing  the  holy  oils  for  Extreme  Unction.  Around  trie  bert 
of  the  dying  man  were  kneeling  a  lew  pious  Catholics,  with 
lighted  tapers  in  their  hands.  Emma  felt  irresistibly  impelled 
to  kneel  also,  which  she  did,  and  shortly  after  Harriet  followed 
her  example,  as  if  ashamed  of  being  seen  standing  a.one. 
A.fter  Smith  had  received  the  viaticum,  the  father  knelt  by  the 
little  table  in  silent  prayer  Ibr  a  few  minutes;  nor  was  this 
•olemn  pause  interrupted  by  the  slightest  noise  from  any  of  the 
3* 


26  FATHEH  OSWALD. 

assistants ;  the  awful  stillness  which  was  there,  seemed  as  the 
forerunner  of  that  still  more  awinl  one  wlm-h  was  soon  to  iol- 
low  Father  Oswald  then  rose,  and,  approaching  the  sit.-k  man, 
administered  to  liim  the  Sacrament  of  Extreme  Unction ;  he 
anointed  with  the  holy  oil  his  eyes,  ears,  lips,  hands  and  i'eet. 
repeating,  as  he  made  each  application,  the  beautiful  and  appro- 
priate iorrn  oi  prayers  used  by  the  Church  on  these  affecting  occa- 
sions. '  May  our  Lord  by  this  holy  anointing',  and  his  own  inost 
tender  mercy,  pardon  thee  whatever  thou  hast  sinned  by  seeing; 
and  so  oi'  the  other  senses.  During  the  whole  imposing  rile, 
Smith  was  in  perfect  possession  of  his  senses;  answering  and 
attending  to  the  prayers  with  the  deepest  sentiments  of  devotion  ; 
his  heart  seemed  overflowing  with  com  ort  and  hope,  while  his 
countenance  wore  an  expression  of  the  most  perfect  calm  and 
resignation.  When  the  holy  rite  was  finished,  Smith  called  his 
wife  to  the  bed-side,  took  her  hand  in  both  his,  and,  in  a  faulter- 
ing  voice,  said,  "  Promise  me  or.e  thing,  Mary,  before  we  part. 
Wilt  thou  get  thyself  instructed  in  the  holy  Catholic  religion  V: 

"  Oh  !  Willie,"  replied  she,  in  accents  broken  by  her  sobs,  "  ] 
nave  heard  and  seen  too  much  in  thy  long  sickness,  not  to  wish 
to  make  as  good  an  end — I  promise  thee." 

':  I  believe  thee:  thou  wast  always  faithful  to  thy  word — and 
thou  wilt  take  our  poor  children  to  learn  their  catechism  lium 
Father  Oswald  V 

"  I  will."     She  could  say  no  more,  for  her  heart  was  full. 

"  Then  I  die  content.  Thanks  be  to  God '"  said  the  poor  suf- 
ferer. 

After  a  few  minutes,  during  which  Smith  seemed  to  be  ab- 
sorbed in  prayer,  he  stretched  out  his  hands  towards  Mrs.  Set- 
ton,  which  she  perceiving,  approached  the  dying  man,  and  asked 
him  what  she  could  do  lor  him. 

"  Thank  you,  Madam,  thank  you ;  you  have  been  very  good 
to  me,  God  reward  you — you  are  not  angry  at  rny  change — 
you  have  told  me  so.  Do  not  forget  my  poor  orphans." 

"  1  will  take  charge  of  them,  William ;  think  no  more  ot 
that." 

"  Thank  you — thank  you.     God — "  his  voice  failed. 

"  Tell  me,  William,"  'said  Mrs.  Sefton,  .while  the  big  tear 
trickled  down  her  cheek,  "  do  you  die  quite  happy  1" 

"Happy!  oh,  yes,  yes.  Oh!  Mad;;m,  if  you  knew."  His 
strength  failed  him.  and  he  could  utter  no  "more.  For  some 
lime  he  continued  to  move  his  lips  in  prayer,  but  nothing  more 
was  distinguishable  from  time  to  time,  but  the  sacred  names, 
'  Jesus — Saviour — Mary  mother." 

It  was  evident  to  all  present  that  a  few  minutes  more  would 


FATHER  OSWALD.  27 

.iberate  the  soul  from  its  sinking  tenement.  Father  Oswald 
seated  himself  to  support  the  head  of  the  expiring  Christian, 
and  from  time  to  time  presenting  the  crucifix  to  his  lips,  suggest- 
ing brief  acts  of  faith,  hope,  the  love  of  God,  contrition,  resig- 
nation, and  fervent  aspirations,  "to  be  dissolved  and  be  with 
Christ."  The  assistants  all  knelt  around  the  bed,  and  recited 
the  Litanies  tor  the  recommendation  of  the  soul,  and  Fathcj 
Oswald  continued  the  touching  prayers  which  follow  them,  be 
ginning — "  Depart,  Christian  soul,  out  of  this  world,  in  lh< 
name  of  God  the  Father  Almighty,  who  created  thee ;  in  tin 
name  of  Jesus  Christ,  the  Son  of  the  living  God,  who  sufferci 
for  thee ;  in  the  name  of  the  Holy  Ghost,  who  sanctified  thee.' 
When  he  came  to  the  words,  "  May  Jesus  Christ,  the  Son  o) 
the  living  God,  place  thee  in  the  ever  verdant  lawns  of  his  par- 
adise, and  may  He,  the  true  Shepherd,  acknowledge  thee  for 
one  of  his  flock,"  a  very  slight  sigh  was  heard,  and  Emma, 
whose  eyes  were  fixed  on  the  dying  man,  saw  that  he  had  ex- 
pired. At  that  moment  the  last  and  richest  gleam  of  the  setting 
sun  shone  into  the  poor  cottage,  and  reposed  on  the  face  of  the 
departed  Christian,  rendering,  if  possible,  with  its  vivid  ray, 
more  vivid  still  the  ardent  expression  of  faith,  and  hope,  and 
love,  which  had  not  yet  died  off  from  the  countenance  of  the 
cold  and  still  remains  of  the  dead.  There  was  a  mournful  si- 
lence of  some  minutes,  broken  only  by  the  sobs  of  his  poo) 
wife  and  children.  Father  Oswald  then  recited  in  a  low  and 
tremulous  voice  the  "  De  pro'undis"  and  some  other  short  pray- 
ers for  the  repose  of  the  soul  just  gone  to  eternity ;  he  then  rose, 
and  addressed  a  few  words  appropriate  to  the  occasion  to  those 
around  him  :  "  You  have,"  said  he,  "  just  witnessed  the  entrance 
if  a  poor  but  good  man  into  the  house  of  eternity  How  calm, 
how  peaceful,  how  lull  of  bright  hope  was  his  departure  hence 
I  cannot  doubt  of  the  merciful  reception  which  he  has  met  with 
in  the  presence  of  his  God.  This  blessed  confidence  he  received 
from  the  holy  faith,  which  he  so  lately  found  and  embraced 
You  have  all  long  known  our  deceased  brother  to  have  been  r.n 
upright  and  honest  man,  blameless  in  his  conduct,  and  of  greai 
gcod  sense.  He  had  a  long  time  indeed  wandered  from  sect  to 
sect,  from  error  to  error,  but  this  was  the  effect  of  his  r.rdoui 
ana  sincerity  in  the  search  alter  truth.  For  many  years  be  wa^ 
:  tossed  to  and  fro  with  every  wind  ot  doctrine,'  until  God,  hear 
ing  his  prayer  and  seeing  the  simplicity  of  his  heart,  conducted 
him  to  that  haven,  where  alone  he  could  cast  securely  the  anohot 
of  his  faith.  There  he  found  peace  and  repose  to  his  sou). 
Well,  then,  may  we  bless  God,  saying,  '  Thou  hast  hid  these 
things  from  the  wi.se  and  prudent,  and  hast  revealed  them 


28  f'ATHKR  OSWAf,U. 

little  ones.'  "*  The  nying  accents  of  Smith  and  the  few  vr?rrls 
of  the  Father  sunk  deeply  <nio  the  heart  of  Mrs.  Sefum.  The 
litlle  assembly  dispersed  in  mournful  silence,  leaving  Father 
Oswald  endeavouring  to  soothe  the  sorrows  of  the  por"  widow 
and  orphans.  Before  Emma  left  the  humble  root,  she  asked 
him  in  a  whisper  to  stop  for  a  moment  at  the  Hall  on  his  way 
home,  to  which  he  willingly  assented,  and  she  and  Harriot 
slowly  retired.  When  thev  had  proceeded  a  few  steps,  Emma 
exclaimed  with  a  deep  sigh.  "  What  a  most  affecting,  what  a 
most  touching  scene  !  Oh  !  Harriet,  I  do  think — I  am  sure,  in- 
lee<),  I  should  like  to  die  a  Catholic." 

"Certainly,  I  never  saw  such  a  scene  before,  though  I  have 
wen  many  Protestants  die,"  replied  her  companion  thought- 
fu.ly. 

"  And  so  have  I."  returned  Emma  ;  "  but  it  was  a  very  dif- 
ferent kind  of  thing  indeed." 

"Those  I  have  seen,"  continued  Harriet,  "all,  however,  died 
verv  quietly,  and  did  not  seem  to  have  any  I'ear  about  saving 
their  souls:  how  can  one  account  for  that,  if  they  were  not  in 
me  right  way  V 

"  I  think  I  can  account  for  if  this  way."  said  Emma,  "with- 
out, discussing  which  is  the  right  way,  and  which  is  the  wrong. 
There  are  a  great  many  people  of  all  persuasions  who  arc  vi- 
cious, and  whose  hearts  are  quite  blinded  and  indifferent  to  all 
••eligion,  nncl  do  not  believe  in  a  future  state  of  existence ;  or  n 
•:hey  do  believe  that  the  soul  survives  the  dissolution  of  the  body, 
persuade  themselves  that  it  can  only  be  in  a  state  of  happiness; 
because  they  imagine  that  all  shall  be  saved.  Now,  it  strikes 
me,  such  persons  would  be  very  likely  to  die  without  much  re- 
morse or  tear." 

"  Well,  I  do  not  understand  it  of  a  wicked  person  without  re- 
ligion," said  Harriet,  ''  but  of  good  moral  Protestants  I  do,  be- 
cause I  don't  see  what  they  have  to  fear:  has  not  Christ  died 
lor  the  sins  of  all  7" 

"  No  doubt,"  said  Mrs.  Sefton,  "but  may  not  Christ  require 
something  on  our  parti" 

"  f  do  not  see  why  he  should.  Is  not  his  redemption  all-suf 
ficicntl  Are  not  our  efforts  worse  than  nothing  1  When  a 
man's  conscience  is  at  e?se,  what  has  he  to  fear  1  Why,  I  ro- 
meinber  my  brother  told  me  some  years  since,  that  he  was  at 
.be  death  of  Lord  ***,  who  vou  may  have  heard  had  a  criminal 
Connection  with  another  man's  wife:  well,  when  he  came  to  be 
-.'ctuaMy  dying,  this  creature  was  sitting  by  his  bed-side,  and  a 
•r\v  minutes  before  he  expired,  he  turned  to  Edward,  and  said, 
*  Matt.  xi.  2o 


FATHKH  OSWALD.  2? 

He  Inanked  God  he  did  not  recollect  ever  having  offended  his 
Maker  in  his  life." 

"How  very  horrid!"  said  Emma,  shuddering;  "bin  you 
know  there  are  some  men  v.'ho  have  '  a  seared  conscience,"  and 
'  whom  God  has  given  up  to  a  reprobate  sense."  Now,  it'  he  had 
been  a  Catholic,  he  would  have  known  that  he  had  been  living 
in  the  constant  violation  of  one  or  more  of  God's  command- 
ments ;  that  he  was  then  in  the  state  of  mortal  sin,  that  is,  in 
;he  state  of  damnation,  and  this  reflection  alone  would  fill  him 
with  fear  and  trembling." 

•'  I  think, — with  horror  and  despair,"  said  Harriet. 

"  Not  so,''  replied  Mrs.  Sefton;  -;  for  as  Father  Oswald  ex- 
plained, there  is  no  time  in  this  life  in  which  a  man  ought  to 
despair ;  and  he  cited  the  words  of  St.  Peter,  '  Repent,  therefore, 
and  be  converted,  that  your  sins  may  be  blotted  out.'*  So  thai 
lie  must  repent  of  his  sins,  and  confess  them  too,  to  the  priesl 
who  has  authority  to  absolve  him.  Therefore,  I  cannot  bill 
think  that  the  Catholic  religion  gives  one  much  more  help  and 
consolation  than  any  other." 

"  It  ma}'  be  so,"  said  Harriet,  "for  I  am  not  clever  at  these 
matters,  but  I  think  the  main  point  is  to  be  good,  whatever  one 
is.  I  am  sure  that  good  old  soul,  Mrs.  Crump,  who  was  as 
constant  a  church-goer  as  ever  I  saw,  and  as  good  a  creature 
too,  died  like  a  lamb;  and  why  should  she  not  1  I  daresay 
she  went  straight  to  Heaven:  so,  Emma,  if  you  will  take  my 
advice,  you  will  not  bother  your  head  any  more  with  such  trou- 
blesome thoughts;  for,  depend  upon  it,  it  is  little  matter  whal 
we  believe,  if  we  are  only  good  and  sincere  Christians." 

"  Indeed,  Harriet,  I  cannot  agree  with  you,  and  I  think  yon 
F.re  much  too  easy  on  those  points;  nor  do  I  see  how  any  one 
can  be  a  sond  and  sincere  Christian  who  does  not  hold  the  true 
and  entire  faith  revealed  by  Christ.  You  know,  dear  Harrier, 
tint  'faith  is  mi?,  and  that  without  this  one  faith  it  is  impossible 
to  please  God.'  We  must  therefore  hold  the  true  faith  in  order 
to  be  gnail  Christians  ;  and  we  must  use  all  the  means  in  our 
power  to  find  out  the  true  faith,  in  order  to  be  sincere  Chris- 
tians." 

"  I  do  not  see,"  sair1  Harriet,  why  the  goodness  or  sincerity  til 
any  Christian  shouW  be  doubted  while  he  follows  what  appears 
to  him  to  be  right." 

"  Pardon  me."  replied  Emma,  earnestly ;  "  there  can  be  no 
good  in  believing  falsehood  fora  revealed  truth  of  God,  nor  much 
sincerity  in  blindly  following  a  preconceived  opinion  withoui 
examining  whether  it  be  true  or  false.  Why,  according  to  you* 


SO  FATHER  OSWAI,u. 

notion,  Quarters  without  baptism  have  just  as  rnueh  right  and 
chance  of  going  to  Heaven  as  good 'Protestants,  who  believe  in 
the  necessity  of  baptism,  because  to  them  it  appears  so  plainly 
ordered  in  the  Bible." 

"Well,  who  knows  but  they  do  go  to  Heaven  7  they  aie  a 
good,  moral  set  of  folks,  though  they  are  Quakers." 

"  I  cannot  think  faith  is  a  matter  of  indifference,"  saiu  Em- 
ma decidedly,  " because  truth  is  one  on  all  subjects;  and  rea- 
son itself  tells  us  that  God,  who  is  truth  itself,  cannot  reve;:l  to 
(he  Quakers  one  thing  and  to  the  Protestants  another  thing  on 
the  same  subject,  and  yet  there  are  some  Protestants  o,  my  <  c- 
(juaintance  who  do  not  believe  in  the  nececsitv  of  b;;ptism,  tnd 
that  is  because  they  happen  to  have  different  views  of  the  s.  me 
passage  in  Scripture.  Now  this  is  very  pn/.zling,  ;.nd  it  has 
frequently  struck  me  that  God  must  have  appointed  some  infal- 
lible umpire,  who  could  not  err  in  interpreting  his  Word  ;  I  ;,m 
very  uneasy  about  it." 

"  If  you  listen  to  the  Romish  Catholics,"  said  Harriet  laugh- 
itig,  "  they  will  tell  you  that  their  pope,  or  their  Church,  01 
themselves  altogether  are  infallible;  but  for  God's  sake  Emma, 
don't  go  and  make  yourself  a  papist;  not  that  I  should  think 
the  worse  of  you  for  it,"  added  she  affectionately,  "  but  1  know 
who  would,  and  so  do  you." 

Emma  sighed  :  bv  that  time  they  had  reached  the  H;  11  door 
and  she  hastened' to  her  husband,  who,  with  General  Russell 
viras  in  the  library,  to  tell  him  all  that  had  happened,  and  to  asli 
Vim  how  they  could  best  assist  the  widow  and  orphans 

Shortly  alter,  Father  Oswald  arrived,  as  he  had  agreed,  ;,nd 
:.ie  party  consigned  to  him  their  charitable  donations  for  the  sur- 
viving sufferers.  Since  general  Russell's  return,  the  father  had 
feen  frequently  seen  at  the  Hall — at  least,  frequently  for  him, 
*'hose  numerous  duties  and  labours  left  him  short  moments  of 
leisure.  The  general  and  he  had  been  schoolfellows  for  their 
whole  college-career,  and  the  heart-lelt  friendship  formed  in 
vouth  had  continued  with  increased  strength  and  constancy  dur- 
ing manhood.  At  first,  Mr.  Sefton  did  not  like  to  see  F  ti/er 
Oswald  calling  on  the  general;  for,  besides  his  deep  roofed 
prejudices  against  Catholics  as  a  body,  these  prejudices  were 
doubly  strong  against  their  clergy,  and  especially  ag:  ins!  Je- 
suits; but,  by  degrees,  the  extreme  urbanity  and  winning  gen- 
tleness of  Father  Oswald's  manners  made  him  frequently  Ibrgel 
he  was  talking  to  one,  until  the  father,  bv  some  pro.  on  rid  o'  j-er- 
vation,  or  a  little  display  of  the  universal  erudition  with  which 
his  vast  mind  was  stored,  again  roused  his  latent  prejudices 
and  out  him  on  his  guard  against  one  of  an  order  which  ln>  }>;>? 


FATHER  OSWALD.  31 

•.ver  considered  as  dark,  designing,  and  mysterious,  w.iose  mem- 
bers would  not  hesitate  to  commit  any  crime  tor  the  service  ot 
llieir  cause.  Still  there  was  something  in  Father  Oswald's 
manners  and  observations  which  piqued  his  curiosity  and  his 
love  of  literature.  Moreover,  Edward's  love  of  discussion 
raus.tl  him  to  feei  a  certain  pleasure  in  the  company  of  thi? 
member  of  the  Society  of  Jesus  which  he  could  not,  however, 
he  wished  it,  conceal  from  himself.  Emma  had  just  given  him 
the  account  of  the  administration  of  Extrsme  Unction,  at  poor 
Smith's,  and  Edward  could  not  resist  lue  desire  of  attacking 
Father  Oswald  on  this  point. 

"  It  seems  to  me,  Sir/'  said  he,  "that  you  Catholics  take  a 
most  erroneous  view  of  what  you  call  the  sacrament  of  Extreme 
Tj  action ;  because,  as  it  is  mentioned  in  the  New  Testament,  it 
evidently  reiers  to  the  gift  of  healing;  whereas,  now,  none  ol 
•.ho  effects  follow  which  are  ascribed  by  the  Apostle  :  !6r,  docs 
he  not  say  that  the  sick  man  shall  be  raised  up  again?  and  1 
have  just  been  told  that  your  sick  man.  after  you  gave  him  Ex- 
treme Unction,  became  more  sicic,  and,  instead  of  being  raised 
up,  is  gone  down  into  the  grave." 

"  My  dear  Mr.  Seiton,"  replied  Father  Oswald  mildly,  "  ac- 
cording lo  your  explanation  of  this  text,  no  one  would  have  died 
in  the  time  of  the  Apostles;  for,  certainly,  if  by  calling  in  the 
1'Jds.rs  of  the  Church,  as  you  translate  the  word,  (not  very  wise- 
Iv.  I  think.)  who  would  have  neglected  so  easy  a  means  of  re- 
covery from  corporal  inh'rmiiy  1  But  this  mystery,  as  you  justly 
observe,  is  considered  by  the  Catholic  Church  as  amongst  hef 
sacraments.'" 

•'  I  should  like  ranch  to  know,  however,  how  you  can  prr.7> 
it  so,"  interrupted  Edward. 

"  We  have  in  it,"  said  Father  Oswald,  "  an  out-icard  sign  r 
svmbol, — '  anointing  him,'  namely,  the  sick  person,  '  with  oil,  b 
the  name  of  the  Lord,'  and  a  promise  of  inward  grace, — '  ah 
the  prayer  of  faith  shall  save  the  sick  man,  and  the  Lord  sha" 
raise  him  up;  and  if  he  be  in  sins,  thev  shall  be  forgiven  him 
T»vo  effects  oi  this  outward  sign  are  distinctly  specified:  fir? 
sani'tifying  grace  with  the  remission  of  sins,  which  is  the  pric 
:ipal  effect  of  the  sacrament ;  and  secondly,  the  raising  up  c 
liealing  of  the  sick  man,  when  it  shall  be  for  his  spiritual  a**- 
vantage;  but  this  secondary  effect  does  not  always  tak*  rlacr 
neither  did  it  in  the  time  of  the  Apostles,  as  I  have  jtut  ot 
served.  Catholic  priests,  however,  who  administer  the  sacia 
ment,  knoy  well  that  this  secondary  effect  often  occurs  e/er 
now.  The  'prayer  of  faith'  is  the  form  of  the  sacrair>«nt  use* 
b>'  the  priest  when  he  '  anoints  the  sick  man ;'  it  is  a  depreca 


3'2  FATHER  OSWALD. 

lory  form,  and  derives  its  efficacy  from  the  faith  of  the  Church 
in  the  Word  and  promise  of  Christ." 

"  Yes,  yes,"  said  Sefton  sarcastically,  "faith of  the  Church  is 
.the  means  by  which  you  papists  get  out  of  many  difficulties,  be 
•they  ever  -so  contrary  to  common  sense." 

"I  cannot  see  any  thing  contrary  to  common  sense  in  this 
explanation  of  the  text  in  question,"  replied  Father  Oswald  ; 
"  much  less  do  I  see  any  thing  contrary  to  common  sense  in  us 
weak  mortals  submitting  our  understandings  and  our  often-erring 
reason  to  the  God  of  all  truth,  who  cannot  have  revealed  to  us 
.ihat  which  is  false." 

'•  No,  no,"  exclaimed  Edward  eagerly ;  "  I  grant  you  there 
is  nothing  contrary  to  common  sense  in  submitting  our  reason 
h>  the  G^d  of  truth ;  it  is  not  that  I  object,  to  by  any  means,  but 
•lnr  blindly  giving  up  the  use  o!  our  understanding  to  fellow- 
sinners  like  ourselves:  for  I  believe  it  is  the  Catholic  doctrine, 
-that  when  once  their  Church  has  decided  a  thing  to  be  an  arti- 
cle of  faith,  that  you  are  all  obliged,  under  pain  of  damnation, 
lo  believe  it." 

"Yes,  we  are,"  answered  the  father  calmly;  "but  in  thus 
submitting  our  understanding  to  the  Church,  we  do  not  suhmu 
it  to  a  human,  but  to  a  divine  authority;  and  in  so  doing,  il 
is  mv  poor  opinion  that  we  show  a  great  deal  of  common  sense." 

•'  How  sol"  said  Emma  hesitatingly. 

"  Because,  my  dear  Madam,  as  we  believe  the  Gospel  ot 
Christ  to  be  a  divine  book,  so  we  believe  that  none  but  a  divine 
authority  can  expound  the  same,'1  said  Father  Oswald;  "and 
in  this  we  are  confirmed  by  St  P^ter,  who  says,  that  '  no  proph- 
ecy of  the  Scripture  is  made  by  private  interpretation."*  Now, 
Mr.  Sefton,  will  you  tell  me  candidly  if  you  believe  in  the  divi- 
nity of  Jesus  Christ,  or  not?" 

"  Most  certainly  I  do,"  said  Edward;  "  how  can  you  doubt 
111" 

"  Because  many  of  our  countrymen  who  read  the  Bible  will- 
as  much  assiduity  as  you  do,  not  only  doubt,  but  deny  the  divin- 
ity of  Jesus  Christ.  Now,  if  you  believe  that  Jesus  Christ  is 
Gk:c ,  you  will  acknowledge  that  His  promises  must  be  infallible, 
;:nu  must  be  fulfilled.''' 

"  Naturally,  t  must  believe  so,"  said  Sefton,  "  for,  being  God. 
His  words  must  always  and  ever  have  the  same  truth  as  they 
iiad  the  moment  Fie  uttered  them." 

"Then,"  continued  Father  Oswald  emphatically,  "you  must, 
according  to  common  sense,  believe  the  Redeemer  when  he 
vays  to  St.  Peter, '  Upon  this  rock  I  will  builc!  rnv  Chm-eh.  nrnl 
*  2  Peicri.  2<» 


FATHKR  OSWALD.  jr» 

ihs  gates  of  Hell  shall  not  prevail  against  it.'*  IP  the  Church 
could  possibly  teac.h  damnable  errors  or  fail  in  the  true  interpre- 
tation of  Scripture,  then  the  gates  of  Hell  could  prevail  against 
her,  contrary  to  the  above  promise,  and  contrary  to  Christ's  ex- 
press words,  when  He  says,  '  Go  ye,  and  teach  all  nations,  bap- 
tizing them  in  the  name  of  the  Father,  and  of  the  Son.  and  of 
<ne  Hcly  Ghost,  teaching  them  to  observe  all  things  whatsoever 
[  have  commanded  you  ;  and,  behold,  I  am  with  jou  ait  duus^ 
even  tj  the  consummation  of  the  world.'  "t 

"  According  to  that,"  said  Mrs.  Scfton  timidly,  "  there  never 
would  have  been  any  need  of  the  Reformation. ' 

"  Certainly  not,  my  dear  lady ;  there  never  was  and  never 
will  be  any  need  of  it,"  answered  Father  Oswald. 

Edward  looked  chidingly  at  his  wile,  and  then  said,  "  The 
Catholic  Church  teaches  many  painful  things  not  contained  in 
the  Bible,  and  contrary  to  the  plain  sense  of  it." 

"Egad!"  exclaimed  the  general  sarcastically,  "there  are 
many  painful  tilings  that  Protestants  cannot  find  in  the  Scrip- 
ture, such  as. 'denying  themselves,  and  taking  up  their  cross 
daily;'';  'crucifying  their  flesh  with  the  vires  and  concupiscen- 
ces ;'§  mortifying  the  deeds  cf  the  flesh  ;'||  and  a  few  other  such 
unpleasant  things,  which  do  not  sound  very  gratifying  to  re- 
formed ears." 

"  If  the  Church  is  directed  by  the  'Spirit  of  truth,'  and  if 
Christ  be  with  his  Church  '  all  /lays'  it  cannot  leach  that  which 
is  contrary  to  Scripture,  as  we  have  just  proved,"  said  Father 
Oswald,  rising;  "it  cannot  teach  that  which  is  false,  either 
'.•oncerning  things  contained  in  the  Scriptures  or  concerning 
•  akigs  handed  down  to  us  by  tradition,  however  painful  they 
,iay  appear  to  human  nature." 

"Do  not  leave  us  yet,  Sir,"  said  Edward,  "for  I  have  not 
tnished  with  you.  1  understand,  that  alter  you  sent  your  sick 
man  to  the  grave,  you  sent  him  on  to  purgatory  ;  now,  this  is 
a  doctrine  quite  contrary  to  Scripture,  and  never  heard  of  in 
the  first  ages  of  Christianity,  till  the  Church  became  lull  of  cor- 
ruptions." 

"  Gently,  gently,  my  good  friend,"  said  Father  Oswald,  "  the 
Church  could  never  become  full  of  corruptions,  and  never  will 
become  full  of  corruptions,  otherwise  Christ's  promises  are  good 
for  nothing-  some  other  day  you  will,  perhaps,  tell  me  your  ob- 
jections to  the  doctrine  of  purgatory;  but  now  it  is  late,  and 
there  are  some  poor  people  waiting  for  rne."  So  saying,  he 
took  his  leave,  making  the  most  grateful  acknowledgments  for 

*  Matt.  xv.  :8.  t  Ma't.  xxviii.  19,  CO.  t  Luke  ix.  23 

*  Gil.  v  24  II  Kom.  vui.  13. 

4 


•J4  FATHER  OSWALD 

their  benevolent  contributions  Ibr  the  poor  widow,  and  breathing 
a  fervent  prayer,  that  the  same  Lord  who  has  promised  '  a  re- 
ward for  a  cup  of  cold  water  given  in  his  name,'  would  pour 
down  upon  them  his  choicest  blessings. 

Edward  exclaimed,  as  he  closed  the  door  after  him,  "a  thou- 
sand pities  it  is  that  such  a  fine  soul  as  that  man  possesses, 
should  have  been  obscured  by  the  errors  and  bigotry  of  lh<* 
•Church  of  Rome  !:' 


CHAPTER    VI. 

"  To  comfort  rmn,  to  whisper  hope 

Whene'er  his  filth  is  dim  : 

For  who  so  c:ireth  for  tlu-  flowors, 

Will  much  more  rare  for  Him."—  HOWITT 

THE  next  morning,  while  Mrs.  Seilon  was  working  in  her 
'flower-garden,  which  was  a  very  wilderness  of  luxuriant  beauty 
and  rnral  enchantment,  her  mind  frequently  reverted  to  the  con- 
versation of  the  previous  evening.  Two  of  her  infant  children 
•were  bounding  around  her  in  their  innocence  and  joy,  sporting, 
ilike  beautiful  butterflies  fluttering  from  flower  to  flower.  The 
very  spirit  of  love  and  beauty,  with  which  God  created  flowers, 
•those  tender  and  gratuitous  emblems  of  his  pure  benevolence  to- 
wards us,  seemed  as  it  were  pausing  and  hovering  over  that  love- 
ly spot;  but  Emma's  heart  was  not  at  rest ;  and  the  Spirit  of  the 
Almighty  was  speaking  to  it  in  another  and  a  different,  language. 
She  heeded  not  her  children,  she  heeded  not  her  flowers.  Smith's 
death-bed,  the  conversations  she  had  lately  heard,  but  more  es- 
pecially a  sermon  of  Father  Oswald's  on  the  blessed  Eucharist, 
which  she  had  attended  in  the  Catholic  chapel,  made  deep  im- 
pressions on  her,  and  had  opened  her  understanding  to  a  wide- 
field  of  thought,  and  doubt,  and  hope.  God  had  gifted  her  with 
a  great  perspicuity  of  intellect.  In  this  sermon  she  had  heard 
Father  Oswald  clearly  explain  the  Catholic  doctrine  of  the  real 
presence  of  our  Savioc'  in  the  Eucharist.  She  had  heard  him 
prove  this  dogma  from  the  cleared  and  most  copious  passages 
of  Holy  Scripture,  as  well  as  from  the  perpetual  faith  and  prac- 
tice of  the  Church  from  the  days  of  the  Apostles  down  to  our 
own  times;  so  that  she  had  not  a  doubt  of  the  divine  mystery. 
But  she  was  deeply  penetrated  with  the  explicit  declaration  ol 


FATHER  OSWALD.  Jft 

the  Redeemer,  '  That  unless  we  eat  the  flesh  of  the  Son  of  God, 
and  drinlc  His  blood,  we  cannot  have  life  in  us.'*  Her  reason 
consequently  came  to  the  conclusion  that  this  being  true,  it  was 
then  necessary  for  her,  before  she  could  possess  eternal  life,  tc 
belong  to  a  Church  which  believed  in  this  dogma  as  Christ  had 
taught  it ;  and  which  could  moreover  administer  to  her  this  rite 
so  absolutely  necessary  for  her  eternal  salvation.  Her  first 
thought,  then,  was  to  become  a  Catholic;  and  this  thought  was 
accompanied  by  a  touch  of  divine  love,  so  sensible  to  her  heart, 
and  at  the  same  time  so  gentle  and  so  strong,  that  it  soothed  all 
the  previous  agitation  of  her  soul ;  the  thought  of  partaking  of 
the  sacrament  of  love  was  kindled  up  with  a  beam  of  hope  al- 
most approaching  to  rapture.  She  mentioned  some  of  her  re- 
flections to  her  husband,  but  his  manner  was  so  marked  with 
displeasure,  and  his  dissent  so  decided,  that  all  her  interior  per- 
turbation and  anxiety  returned.  While  she  was  externally 
employed  at  her  horticultural  labours,  her  mind  was  intent  on 
these  thoughts.  Her  good  sense  told  her  that  bold  denial  and 
cold  sarcasm  were  no  answer  to  the  luminous  arguments  of 
Father  Oswald ;  that  the  doctrine  of  the  real  presence  was  sup- 
ported by  numerous  texts  of  Scripture,  taken  in  plain,  obvious, 
and  literal  sense,  in  which  every  unprejudiced  and  single- 
hearted  reader  must  necessarily  understand  them,  while  not  one 
single  text  could  be  adduced  by  Protestants  in  its  refutation .  "  If," 
thought  she  to  herself,  "  Scripture  alone  is  to  be  my  guide,  as  I 
have  always  been  taught,  I  must  believe  with  Catholics  on  this 
point.  But  how  can  I  believe  and  commune  with  Catholics  on 
this  point  without  ceasing  to  be  a  Protestant  1  How  can  I  cease 
to  be  a  Protestant  without  inflicting  a  deadly  wound  on  the 
kindest,  the  warmest,  the  most  generous  of  hearts'?  '  Merciful 
God!  into  what  straits  hast  Thou  brought  me  !:'  Her  swelling 
heart  beat  in  her  breast  as  though  it  would  have  burst  its  con- 
finement, until  a  gush  of  tears  came  to  her  relief;  when  sud- 
denly, before  she  was  aware  of  it,  she  heard  her  uncle's  voice, 
and,  looking  up,  saw  him  standing  by  her  side.  The  tears  were 
flowing  from  her  eyes;  she  tried  to  conceal  them,  but  the  general 
had  perceived  and  noticed  them  to  her:  her  only  answer  was, 
-<  Uncle,  may  I  ask  you  a  question  V 

"Yes,  my  dear  Emma,  a  hundred,  if  you  will." 

"  But  you  will  not  tell  Edward  that  I  have  asked  it  of  you  V 
laid  she  hesitatingly. 

"My  dearest  child,"  said  the  general.  "  cannot  you  trust  me, 
who  love  you  as  though  you  were  my  own  !" 

"  Well  then,  uncle,  do  you  think  a  person  cannot  be  savet5 
out  of  the  Catholic  Church  T 

«  John  vi.  ot 


36 

"That  is  the  truth,"  answered  the  general,  "  and  it  is  the 
doctrine  (if  the  Catholic;  it  is  the  doctrine  of  Christ  himself. 
For  he  has  revealed  a  code  of  doctrines  to  be  believed,  and  Tie 
hr.-s  added,  'He  that  believeth  not  shall  be  condemned,'  or 
'damned,'  as  your  Bib'.c  renders  it.*  Now  as  (he  Catholic 
Church  most  firmly  holds  and  proves  that  she  alone  is  the  true 
Church  of  Christ,  she  must  hold  this  doctrine  of  exclusive  sal- 
vation as  the  doctrine  of  Christ,  or  surrender  her  title  to  the 
true  Church.  Hence  it  is  only  in  cases  of  invincible  ignorance.t 
that  a  person  can  be  saved  out  of  the  pale  of  the  Catholic 
Church  ;  and  even  then,  wo  cannot  say  strictly  that  such  a 
person  is  out  of  the  pale  of  the  Church ;  for  every  child  that  is 
baptized  is  made  a  member  of  (he  one,  holy,  Catholic  Church; 
and  though  he  should  have  the  misfortune  to  be  brought  np  in 
error,  and  to  mak'e  an  open  profession  of  erroneous  doctrines, 
he  ceases  indeed  to  belong  to  the  external  body  of  the  Church, 
but  as  long  as  his  error  is  invincible  he  still  belongs  to  the  spirit 
of  the  Church,  and  to  the  communion  of  Saints,  until  by  grievous 
sin  he  looses  the  vivifying  spirit  of  divine  grace." 

There  was  a  pause  of  some  moments;  at  length,  Emma 
looked  up  from  her  fairy  worK,  and  said,  "  I  fear  I  am  not  in- 
vincibly ignorant,  since  I  have  heard  that  sermon  of  Father  Os- 
wald's upon  the  Eucharist." 

"  My  dear  child,  do  not  say  yon  fear  you  are  not  invincibly 
ignorant;  but  rather  say,  'I  thank  God  I  am  not  invincibly 
ignorant ;'  for  to  be  brought  to  the  knowledge  of  the  truth  is  the 
first  and  greatest  blessing  of  God's  saving  love." 

"  But,  uncle,  were  I  to  become  a  Catholic,  Edward  would  be 
so  very  angry,  I  do  not  think  I  could  bear  it ;  and  then  he  is  so 
clever,  and  knows  so  much,  and  tells  me  he  himself  is  quite 
convinced  that  a  person  who  is  a  good  Protestant  will  go  to 
Heaven;  so  I  think  I  must  be  satisfied  with  St.  Paul's  order  tu 
wives  to  obey  their  husbands." 

The  general  shook  his  head  mournfully,  and  said,  "  Emma, 
I  see  the  strong  workings  of  your  heart,  and  I  wish  I  could  re- 
\ieve  them.  The  Apostle  does  not  preach  implicit  obedience  to 
the  husband  in  all  things;  for  remember,  'If  any  woman  have 
a  nusband  that  believeth  not'  .  most  assuredly  he  (.iocs  ijol 
send  her  to  learn  of  him  what  she  is  to  believe:  fcr  though  'U 
Paul  allows  her  to  dwell  in  peace  with  him,  yet  he  adds,  It 
the  unbeliever  depart,  let  him  depart,  for  a  brother  cr  sist»  '« 
uot  under  servitude  in  such  cases.'  "; 

*  Mark  xvi.  1(5. 

t  Or  invincible  necessity.     See  flnwardeit';  Cht'ity  and  Tr^'.K 

t  1  Cor  vii.  13 


FATHKK  OSWALD.,  37 

"  But  you  do  not  call  Edward  an  unbeliever,  uncle  1" 

<:  In  similar  cases,"  replied  the  general,  "  I  believe  the  Apos- 
tle would  make  no  distinction  between  ai  unbeliever  and  a  mis- 
believer." 

"  But,  uncle,"  continued  Mrs.  Sefton  in  an  imploring  tone, 
"would  you  have  me  make  my  husband  so  very  miserable  1 
Were  it  not  on  his  account,  I  should  certainly  inform  mysull 
more  about  the  Catholic  religion." 

"  If  you  have  any  doubt  on  your  mind,  my  dearest  Emma,  you 
are  bound  to  clear  it  up.  Doubt  is  incompatible  with  divine 
faith ;  it  is  criminal  to  doubt  of  a  revealed  truth  ;  it  is  impious 
tc  reject  it,  when  you  know  it  to  be  revealed.  How  wicked, 
then,  must  it  be  to  shut  your  eyes  against  light,  when  it  begins 
to  dawn  upon  you !" 

"But,  surely,  you  do  not  think  I  am  obliged  to  sacrifice  aJl 
my  peace  in  this  world,  when  my  husband,  who  has  studied  so 
much  about  religion,  tells  me  I  can  be  saved,  if  I  am  a  good 
Protestant." 

"  Tell  me,  Emma,  is  your  husband,  with  all  his  learning, 
infallible  1  May  he  not  err,  and  lead  you.  into  error  1  Are 
there  not  many  others  equally  learned,  who  differ  widely  ir. 
opinion  from  him  on  several  essential  and  important  points] 
what  certainty,  then,  can  you  have  that  he  alone  is  right  V 

Emma  sighed  deeply.  "  Alas  !"  said  she,  "  how  often  have 
I,  with  the  most  poignant  misgivings  of  my  heart,  observed  the 
great  differences  of  opinions,  even  amongst  those  who  are  es- 
teemed the  best  Protestants ;  but  is  not  this  the  unavoidable  lot 
of  human  nature  1  and,  since  all  men  arc  subject  to  error,  may 
\ve  not  as  safely  follow  one  as  another  1" 

"  If  faith,"  replied  the  general,  "  were  the  result  of  human 
speculation,  or  a  mere  human  opinion,  your  conclusions  would 
be  just;  it  would  then  be  your  duty  to  follow  the  opinion  of 
vour  husband.  But  faith  is  a  voluntary  submission  of  our  un- 
derstandings to  the  revealed  truth  of  God,  grounded  on  His  di- 
vine authority  alone;  human  authority  can  be  no  ground  for'an 
act  of  divine  faith.  You  must  then  seek  for  some  authority  su- 
perior to  that  of  man,  that  you  may  not  err  in  matters  of  faith.'' 

"  Have  we  not  the  Bible  V  exclaimed  Mrs.  Sefton,  with  au 
air  of  triumph. 

"  No  doubt  we  have,"  answered  the  general ;  "  but  you  know 
too  well  that  Ihe  Bible,  the  infallible  Word  of  God,  is  made  tc 
speak  a  thousand  different  languages — is  wrested  into  a  thou- 
sand different  meanings,  and  thus,  only  expresses  the  vague 
opinions  of  men.  The  Word  of  God,  when  misinterpreted  by 
man,  ceases  to  he  the  Word  of  God  and  becomes  the  deceitful1 
4* 


38  KATHEK   OSWALD. 

word  of  man.  In  fine,  it  is  not  sufficient  to  know  that  God  has 
revealed  a  system  of  divine  truths,  hut  we  must  know  with  equal 
certainty  and  upon  the  same  divine  authority,  what  those  tru'l.s 
are.  Nr.w,  seek  where  you  will,  you  will  never  find  that  cer- 
tainty, but  in  the  perpetual  and  living  authority  which  Christ, 
from  the  beginning,  communicated  to  His  Church." 

Mrs.  Sefton  sighed.  "  I  must  acknowledge,"  said  she,  "  that 
I  have  often  felt  the  necessity  of  such  a  guide;  and  often  have 
I  envied  the  peace  and  security  of  Catholics,  who  believe  them- 
selves guided  by  an  infallible  authority.  Oh !  how  olten  have 
I  felt  my  heart  sink  within  me,  anxiously,  yet  timidly,  seeking 
some  one  to  tell  me  what  is  truth  1 — what  is  error  1  And  yet, 
dear  uncle,  now  that  I  am  opening  my  heart  to  you,  and  speak- 
ing as  to  a  friend,  I  must  acknowledge  your  conclusions  seem 
to  me  both  unavoidable  and  unanswerable ;  and  yet  1  think 
there  can  be  but  one  source  of  truth  in  the  world,  and  that  the 
Bible." 

"  But,  my  dear  niece,  if  the  Bible  is  the  only  source  of  truth, 
how  does  it  happen  that  so  many  people  draw  so  many  contra- 
dictory doctrines  from  the  same  source  ?  The  Protestant  be- 
lievetii  'every  spirit,'  and  particularly  his  own  :  hence  the  thou- 
sands of  errors  and  contradictions  into  which  lie  falls.  The 
Catholic  follows  a  more  simple  but  perfectly  secure  rule,  namely, 
the  authority  of  the  Church,  by  listening  to  those  whom  Christ 
commanded  all  'to  hear'  as  Himself,  and  to  whom  was  given 
the  infallible  promise,  that  the  Spirit  of  truth  should  abide  with 
them  'for  ever,'  to  teach  them  '  all  truth.'  "*• 

"  But  how  shall  we  know  that  it  is  to  the  Catholic  Church 
this  promise  is  made  T' 

"  By  following  the  directions  which  St.  John  gives  us  in  ordei 
to  distinguish  between  truth  and  error,''  replied  the  general. 

"  What  directions  1"  said  Emma,  "  I  do  not  remember  ever 
to  have  heard  them." 

"  Does  not  St.  John  say,"  answered  the  general,  "  'We  are 
of  God.  He  that  knoweth  God  heardkus.  He  that  is  not. of 
God  kcarclh  us  not.  By  this  we  know  the  spirit  of  truth  and 
the  spirit  of  error  1"t  Now,  from  the  time  of  St.  John,  down 
to  the  present  moment,  every  Catholic  has  heard,  does  hear,  and 
believe  the  Church  ;  that  is,  he  hears  and  believes  the  lawful 
successors  of  the  Apostles  whom  Christ  commanded  '  to  teach 
all  nations,'  and  promised  '  to  be  with  them  all  days,  even  to  the 
consummation  of  the  world.'  You  Protestants,  Emma,  do  r.ol 
think  it  necessary  to  believe  the  parsons  in  matters  of  faith- 
and  no  wonder,  as  they  very  liberally  grant  each  individual 
*  John  xiv.  16  ;  xvi.  13.  \  I  John  iv  f 


FATHER  OSWALD.  39 

permission  to  judge  for  himself  about  the  interpretation  of  the 
Bible:  now  if  the  Bible  be  the  only  source  of  truth  in  the 
world,  how  happens  it,  that  so  many  draw  such  fatal  errors 
from  it  ?" 

"  Because,  I  suppose."  said  Mrs.  Sefton  timidly,  "  Christ  ha? 
not  promised  to  teach  each  individual  person  all  truth  to  the  end 
of  the  world,  but  He  has  only  promised  it  to  the  teachers  of  his 
Church,  I  mean  to  the  successors  of  the  Apostles." 

''  Exactly  so,  my  dear  child,  and  without  an  unerring  guide, 
the  Bible  is  more  frequently  the  source  of  error  than  of  truth." 

•'  But  tell  rne,  uncle,  if  I  try  lo  love  God  with  my  whole  heart, 
and  strive  to  serve  Him  as  well  as  I  can  in  my  present  circum- 
stances, may  I  not  rest  secure  in  His  mercy  V 

"Emma,"  replied  the  general,  "  I  must  not  conceal  the  truth. 
God  i:-.  our  Sovereign  Lord,  and  demands  the  homage  not  only 
of  our  whole  heirt,,  but  of  our  whole  mind  also,  and  I  cannot 
see  how  you  may  be  said  to  love,  or  to  serve  Him  with  your 
whole  mind,  while  you  refuse  Him  the  entire  obedience  of  faith, 
by  firmly  holding  all  and  every  article  which  He  hath  revealed; 
for  to  doubt  of  one,  even  the  leasr,  would  he  to  question  his 
veracity  equallv  as  to  doubt  of  all." 

"  Oh,"  sai.l  Mrs.  Selton,  "  it  is  enough  for  me  to  know  thai 
Christ  my  Lord  and  my  God  has  spoken;  I  do  believe  every 
word." 

1:  That  is  not  enough,"  continued  the  general ;  "  we  must  at 
every  cost  confess  our  faith  before  men,  if  we  would  not  be 
denied  by  Christ  before  the  Father  in  Heaven;  He  has  fore- 
warned us  that  a  man's  enemies  shall  '  be  they  of  his  own 
household.'  "* 

"What !:)  exclaimed  Mrs.  Sefton,  clasping  her  hands  in  an 
agony  of  despair,  "  is  it  necessary  to  save  mv  soul,  that  I  should 
come  to  such  extremities  as  these  !  Oh,  uncle !  you  little  know 
of  what  Edward  is  capable  in  sternness  and  determination. 
Alas!  alas!  I  dare  not  trust  myself  to  think  what  would  be  the 
consequences  of  my  becoming  a  Catholic." 

"  I  would  fain  spare  your  feelings,  my  dearest  niece,  if  1 
could;  but  you  have  asked  me  to  tell  you  the  truth,  and  I  should 
ill  repay  the  confidence  reposed  in  me  by  deceiving  you.  It 
would  not  be  deceiving  you  in  a  matter  of  indifference,  but  de- 
ceiving you  in  what  concerns  your  eternal  happiness  or  misery. 
Our  Saviour  himself  says,  '  If  any  nrin  come  to  me,  and  hau 
not  his  father  and  mother,  and  wii'e,  itv.'  children,  and  brothei 
and  sister,  yea,  and  his  own  life  als.»,  i.<:  cannot  be  my  disciple.'t 
To  bov-ome  a  disciple  of  Christ  is  to  embrace  and  pro&ss  his 
»  Matt.  x.  30  t  I.ukt;  xiv.  3u. 


40  FATHER  OSWALD. 

doctrine;  no  worldly  considerations,  however  dear,  must  with- 
hold us  from  it.  The  trial  is  severe,  but  God  will  reward  ihe 
generous  sacrifice  a  hundred  fold." 

At  this  moment  the  nurse  came  to  call  the  little  children  to 
dinner;  they  ran  to  kiss  their  mamma  before  they  went  and 
gazed  with  innocent  surprise  in  her  face,  seeing  it  covered  with 
tears;  the  next  moment  they  were  running  after  their  nur=e,  for- 
getful of  all  but  the  sunshine  in  their  own  light  hearts.  Emma 
took  the  general's  arm,  and  they  slowly  followed  the  children  to 
the  house.  Mrs.  Sefton  felt  convinced  of  the  truth  of  the  Catho- 
lic religion,  and  would  have  freely  and  joyfully  embraced  it  but 
for  the  obstacles  already  mentioned.  The  struggle  in  her  mind 
hetween  the  sense  of  duty  and  the  apprehensions  she  entertained 
of  what  might  be  the  consequences  of  acting  upto  \hat  duty,  made 
her  very  unhappy.  This  unhappiness  affected  her  naturally 
cheerful  spirits,  and  it  was  not  long  before  \\f.r  husband  per- 
ceived it.  He  observed  her  conduct  closely,  1.1  order  to  find 
what  mighl  be  the  cause  of  this  alteration  in  one  so  dear  to  him  ; 
but  he  could  discover  no  cause;  he  saw  the  innooenee  of  her 
manners  and  pursuits  the  same  as  ever;  he  saw  the  daily  tenour 
of  her  life  fulfilled  with  the  same  simplicity  and  urbanity  to  all 
around  her;  the  same  attention  to  the  feelings  of  others;  the 
same  tenderness  to  her  children  and  to  himself;  the  same  kind- 
heartedness  to  every  one.  But  he  sometimes  perceived,  that 
when  she  was  fondly  gazing  on  her  little  ones,  he.r  fine  blue  eyes 
would  become  suffused  with  unbidden  tears,  and  that  she  would 
strive  to  smother  a  scarcely  audible  sigh  in  thit  caresses  of  her 
baby.  Edward  felt  much  pain  from  these  circumstances,  and 
he  resolved  to  win  her  confidence.  Once  pueeiving  her  more 
affected  than  usual,  he  pressed  her  tenderly  to  his  breast,  and 
entreated  her  to  open  her  heart  to  him,  and  tell  him  if  there 
was  aught  which  caused  her  affliction.  At  first  she  hesitated, 
but  yielding  at  length,  she  opened  ktr  whole  heart  to  him. 
Agitated  by  sorrow,  by  anger,  ar.<i  by  scorn,  he  finally  pushed 
her  from  him,  passionately  cxc.aiming — 

"  No,  Emma  ;  never  will  1  tatfe  to  my  bosom  a  Catholic  bigo. 
-an  idolatress !  Never  shall  my  children  suck  in  the  abomina- 
tions of  popery  with  their  mother's  milk!  I  warn  you  ouce  for 
all — and  never  shall  my  lips  mention  the  subject  again — if  you 
should  evar,  Emma,  dare  to  take  this  step,  I  shall  think  it  rny 
bounden  duly  before  God  to  have  my  children  placed  in  olhei 
hands,  and  I  shall  not  fail  to  act  in  consequence.  But  no,  m\ 
own — my  beloved  wife— you  cannot — you  will  not,  thus  utter) j 
cut  up  and  destroy  the  happiness  of  one  who  does  truly  dedicate 
ills  whole  heart  to  you — to  you,  who  are  the  solace — the  delighJ 


FATHER  OSWALD.  41 

of  his  very  existence  1  Answer  me,  Emmn,  my  love — answer 
me." 

But  Emma  could  not  answer  him;  the  weight  of  her  emo- 
tion was  too  great,  und  he  abruptly  left  her.  Alas!  she  knew 
too  well  the  firm,  unbending  nature  of  his  character,  when  lie 
thought  he  was  acting  from  a  point  of  duty;  and  her  very  heart 
sunk  within  her  when  she  repassed  in  her  poor  distracted  mind 
the  terrible  words  he  had  just  uttered.  It  was  not  till  some 
•hours  alter  the  sun  had  gone  down  on  their  emotions,  that  the 
hearts  of  Edward  and  Emma  were  at  all  restored  to  a  temporary 
calm ;  but  when  they  rnet  at  supper,  it  was  more  in  sorrow  than 
in  anger ;  and  he  saluted  her  with  so  much  kindness,  although 
shaded  by  a  tinge  of  sadness,  and  showed  her  so  many  little 
attentions,  that  Emma's  trembling  heart  was  again  re-assured 
of  her  husband's  affection,  as  she  said  within  herself,  "  Whether 
I  am  a  Catholic  or  a  Protestant,  with  me  it  will  never  make  any 
difference  in  my  love  to  my  husband." 

Before  retiring  to  rest  she  examined  her  heart  before  God,  and 
earnestly  implored  Him  to  direct  her  how  to  act,  and  to  give  her 
strength  to  GO  that  which  was  right.  Nor  did  she  rh>e  from 
prayer  before  she  felt  her  soul  at  peace. 


CHAPTER    VII. 

"  Danger  may  gather  round  thee,  like  the  cloud 
Round  one  of  Heaven's  pure  stars,  tliou'lt  hold 
Within  thy  course  unsullied." 

BY  this  time  Weetwood,  the  ancient  seat  of  general  Russell's 
ancestors,  was  ready  for  the  reception  of  its  master,  and  the 
general  IOOK  up  his  residence  there,  amid  the  beautiful  and  ro- 
mantic scenery  of  his  "  careless  childhood."  The  house  was 
ancient,  but  in  excellent  repair,  and  the  old  chapel  still  preserved 
its  Gothic  windows,  with  richly  painted  glass,  casting  hues  of 
gold  and  purple,  over  the  beautiiul  pavement  and  altar  which 
remained — remnants  of  times  gone  by — sweet  relicks  of  the 
taste  of  our  ancestors  in  the  Ages  of  Faith,  when  the  Catholic 
religion  was  the  only  one  in  England,  and  when  the  old  religion 
of  the  Apostles  was  thought  sufficient;  before  the  intellectual 
pride  of  man  had  poured  forth  in  Porteus  form,  a  brood  of  dis- 
cordant sects  which  now  overspread  the  land.  This  hallovsd 


42  FATHER  OSWALD. 

sanctuary  had,  in  fact,  withstood  the  storms  of  the  Reformation, 
and  time  had  so  slightly  rwept  its  sculptured  treasures,  that  his 
touch  seemed  but  to  have  mellowed  and  enhanced  the  exquisite 
beauty  of  the  chiselled  ornaments  which  so  profusely  and  ap- 
propriately adorned  it.  The  paintings,  too,  were  in  the  finest 
preservation,  gems  from  the  chaste  and  luxurious  pencils  of 
Guido  and  Murillo.  The  general  loved  this  spot,  and  never, 
during  the  long  years  of  his  absence,  was  its  remembrance  ef- 
faced from  his  mind.  Often  and  often,  in  the  toil  and  turmoil ' 
of  war,  when  danger  threatened  him  nearest,  did  he  wish  him- 
self before  its  holy  altars,  which  were  associated  in  his  remem- 
brances with  all  the  feelings  he  had  experienced  in  his  infancy 
and  early  manhood — feellrgs  of  piety,  and  peace,  and  holiness, 
associated,  too,  with  the  memory  of  nis  long  lost  and  lamented 
wife,  who  had  shared  with  him,  during  their  brief  union, — all  the 
soothing  and  holy  sentiments  which  do  honour  to  the  man  and 
lo  the  Christian.  Wectwood  was  ten  miles  from  Sefton  Hall, 
and  after  the  general  had  been  settled  there  for  some  little  time; 
he  wrote  to  beg  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Sefton  to  come  with  their  family 
to  visit  him ;  this  they  accordingly  did,  and  during  the  first 
month  of  their  visit,  saw  a  great  deal  of  company,  all  the  neigh- 
bouring families  coming  to  renew  their  old  acquaintance  with 
General  Russell.  At  the  end  of  a  month  Mr.  Sefton  was  sud- 
denly called  to  Devonshire,  on  business  relating  to  some  pro- 
perty he  possessed  there.  At  the  general's  earnest  request,  he 
left  his  wife  and  children  at  Weetwood,  where  they  remain- 
ed during  his  absence.  It  was  during  this  period  that  Mrs. 
Selton  obtained  much  information  on  the  Catholic  religion, 
which,  owing  to  her  particular  situation,  she  almost  feared 
to  seek  ;  but  though  her  will  remained  wavering  in  this 
state  of  irresolution,  her  understanding  became  daily  more 
convinced,  and  her  heart  daily  more  uneasy  ;  how  often  did  (he 
thought  come  to  her  mind,  "  What  will  it  avail  me  if  I  enjoy 
all  the  happiness  this  world  can  give,  and  lose  my  own  soul?" 
This  was  frequently  her  waking  thought,  and  if  she  chanced 
not  to  sleep  during  the  night,  her  thoughts,  in  spite  of  herself, 
constantly  recurred  to  the  same  subject.  She  felt  a  void  in 
every  tiling,  an  uneasiness  and  distaste  in  the  discharge  even  ol 
those  duties  dearest  to  her  heart;  she  felt  a  want  of  something, 
and  a  shrinking,  timid  fear  of  investigating  her  own  conscience 
as  to  what  this  something  was.  If  she  tried  to  pray,  she  lelt  a 
distraction,  a  hardness  and  drvness  of  heart,  painful  in  the  ex- 
treme. She  could  not  long  endure  this  agonizing  state,  and  she 
sought  an  opportunity  of  opening  her  mind  to  some  one.  About 
this  time,  there  came  to  Weetwood  the  Catholic  bishop  of  the 


J'ATEIER  OSWALD  43 

iiocese,  Dr.  Thornton  ;  the  object  of  his  visit  was  to  confirm  the 
children  of  the  congregation,  and  to  administer  to  them  their 
first  communion:  there  were  about  thirty  of  them.  Ernma 
witnessed  this  touching  ceremony,  and  she  felt  her  heart  melt 
with  tenderness  at  the  sight  of  these  little  innocents  appioaching 
I  he  holy  altar  to  receive  their  Saviour  and  their  God.  "And 
i:an  I  never  do  so  1"  exclaimed  she,  covering  her  face  with  her 
hands,  to  conceal  the  tears  which  gushed  from  her  eyes  as  she 
Knelt  in  the  little  chapel,  looking  at  this  beautiful  spectacle:  the 
anguish  of  her  heart  became  too  intense  and  oppressive  to  en- 
dure, and  she  determined  that  evening  to  open  her  mind  to  thfi 
bishop.  She  accordingly  told  her  uncle  she  wished  to  speak 
alone  to  the  bishop.  The  general  seemed  affected,  but  not  sur- 
prised at  her  request ;  he  bade  her  follow  him,  and  conducted 
her  to  the  sacristy  belonging  to  the  chapel,  telling  her  to  wait 
there.  This  little  sacristy  was  of  the  same  architecture  as  the 
chapel,  though  not  so  much  ornamented ;  its  arched  roof  was  at 
once  simple  and  striking;  the  window  was  of  very  rich  painted 
glass,  representing  the  last  supper,  the  glowing  luxuriance  of 
the  tints  casting  a  mellow  and  sombre  light  into  the  interior  of 
the  building,  calculated  to  promote  thoughts  of  calmness  and 
recollection.  Ernma  had  never  been  there  before  ;  and  though 
she  was  very  much  agitated  during  the  time  she  was  waiting, 
she  could  not  help  remarking  the  air  of  stillness  and  beauty  that 
reigned  within  its  walls.  At  length,  the  door  opened,  and  the 
bishop  entered  :  he  was  a  venerable-looking  prelate,  about  sixty 
years  of  age,  with  hair  perfectly  white,  and  a  countenance  beam- 
ing with  piety  and  benevolence.  He  approached  Mrs.  Sefton, 
and  seeing  her  extreme  agitation,  he  begged  her  to  sit  down, 
saying — 

"  Your  uncle,  my  dear  Madam,  told  me  you  wished  to  speak 
to  me ;  in  what  can  I  serve  you  1" 

"  You  are  very  good,  my  Lord  ;  I  wished  to  speak  to  you  in- 
deed :  because  I  am  very  unhappy ;  you  are  aware  I  am  a  Pro- 
Mstant." 

"  So  I  have  been  told  ;  but  from  your  constant  attendance  in 
the  chapel,  I  should  be  led  tc  believe  you  a  Catholic." 

"  No,  I  am  not  a  Catholic  ,  mv  father  was  one,  but  my  mother 
was  a  very  good  Protestant,  and  brought  me  up  in  that  Church  ; 
etill.  though  I  am  not  a  Catholic,  1  have  no  objection  to  the 
Catholic  religion,  and  I  think  I  should  like  very  much  to  becomt 
one,  if  it  were  not  for  an  insurmountable  objection." 

"My  dear  child,  there  can  be  no  insurmountable  objection 
which  the  grace  of  God  cannot  overcome;  do  you  know  i  was 
once  a  Protestant  T' 


44  FATHER  OSWALD. 

"  Yon,  my  Lord  !"  exclaimed  Emma  in  great  surprise. 

"  Yes ;  1  was  a  Protestant  till  I  was  one-and-twer.ty  years  ft 
age." 

'•'  And  why,  then,  did  you  change  your  religion  7" 

"  Because  I  was  convinced  that  the  Catholic  religion  is  the 
only  true  one." 

"  But  how,  Sir,  did  you  get  courage  to  take  the  decided  step, 
or  perhaps  there  was  no  c/ne  who  opposed  you  1" 

"  Yes,  my  dear  Madam,  I  met  with  great  opposition  from  my 
parents,  for  I  was  their  eldest  son  ;  but  Almighty  God  gave  me 
the  strength  I  needed." 

"  Oh,  that  the  same  God  would  give  me  strength  !"  exclaimed 
Mrs.  Sefton,  "Oh,  that  He  would  enable  me  to  do  what  is  right! 
but  1  have  difficulties,  very  rery  great  difficulties." 

"What  is  impossible  with  man  is  possible  with  God,"  said 
the  bishop;  "  if  you  mention  vour  difficulties  to  me,  perhaps  I 
may  be  of  .some  service  to  you.1' 

Mrs.  Sefton  then  stated  all  her  difficulties,  the  sum  of  which 
was  the  fear  of  her  husband  ;  and  she  ended  by  asking  him, 
if  in  his  conscience  he  thought  she  could  not  be  saved  by  lead- 
ing a  moral,  good  life,  without  openly  embracing  the  Catholic 
doctrines." 

"  My  dear  child,"  answered  the  bishop,  "  every  thing  in  reli- 
gion is  connected  and  linned  together;  the  morality  of  the 
Gospel  cannot  be  separated  i'rom  its  doctrines :  they  reciprocally 
support  and  enforce  one  another.  We  are  to  obey  the  precepts 
of  Jesus  Christ,  not  only  because  they  appear  to  us  conformable 
to  reason  and  truly  sublime,  but  because  they  have  been  en- 
joined by  Him  who  is  the  sovereign  truth,  and  who  has  an  tin- 
conlrovertible  right  to  command  our  ready  and  unreserved  obe- 
dience. Now.  my  dear  Madam,  from  what  you  tell  me,  you 
seem  quite  convinced  that  the  Catholic  religion  is  the  true  and 
only  religion  founded  by  Jesus  Christ.  Is  it  not  sol" 

"  Yes,  my  Lord,  you  have  expressed  what  I  feel." 

"Well,  then,  I  am  bound  to  tell  you,  that  yen  cannot  save 
your  immortal  soul  without  giving  to  Jesus  Christ  the  obedience 
of  faith  which  he  requires  of  you;  but  take  courage,  there  is 
nothing  so  difficult  in  this.  Did  you  ever  read  the  History  ol 
St.  Perpetua  and  St.  Felicitasl" 

"  No.  Sir,  I  never  did." 

"  Well,  they  were  both  married  women,  and  Perpetua  was  o! 
a  noble  family;  at  the  time  of  her  martyrdom,; — for  she  gave 
her  life  in  defence  of  her  faith — she  had  an  infant  at  the  breast, 
and  suffered  much  from  her  father  on  account  of  her  constancy 
vO  Jesus  Chiist;  the  parting  i'rom  her  infant,  you  may  imagine, 


FATHER  OSWALD.  45 

was  most  sensible  to  her  tender  heart.  Felicitas  became  a 
mother  in  the  prison  where  they  were  both  detained  for  the 
faith,  and  sh3  and  Perpetua  shortly  after  suffered  a  cruel  martyr- 
dom with  the  greatest  courage  and  constancy.  Now,  my  dear 
child,  these  were  delicate  females  like  yourself,  wives  and 
Tno.hers,  who  gave  that  which  was  dearest  to  them  in  this  world, 
namely,  their  lives,  for  Jesus  Christ,  and  not  only  they,  hut 
hundreds  and  thousands  of  others  did  the  same;  for,  rather 
than  deny  Jesus  Christ,  they  left  their  husbands,  and  wives,  and 
fathers,  and  mothers,  and  children,  and  every  thing  else  that 
was  dearest  to  them  ;  but  I  recommend  you  to  read  the  wholt 
account  of  St.  Perpetua  and  -St.  Felicitas  in  the  Lives  of  the 
Saints." 

"  But  these,  Sir,  were  martyrs,  and  that  all  happened  in  the 
first  ages  of  Christianity.*1 

"Assuredly  they  were  martyrs;  but  if  you  reflect  a  little, 
you  will  perceive  that  if  it  was  necessary  to  part  with  one's  life 
rather  than  one's  fat/A  in  the  first-  ages  of  Christianity,  in  order 
to  obtain  eternal  salvation,  the  very  same  obligation  exists  wow ; 
because  the  religion  that  Jesus  Christ  founded,  the  religion  that 
existed  in  the  first  ages  of  Christianity,  and  the  religion  taught 
by  the  Catholic  Church  now,  is  all  one  and  the  same  thing ;  and 
as  you  have  read  a  great  deal  in  the  Holy  Scriptures,  you  may 
recollect  our  Saviour's  words  when  he  says,  '  Every  one  there- 
lore  that  shall  confess  me  before  men,  I  will  also  confess  him 
before  my  Father,  who  is  in  Heaven.  But  he  that  shall  deny 
me  before  men,  I  will  also  deny  him  before  my  Father  who  is 
.in  Heaven.'  "*  Mrs.  Sefton  sighed,  and  the  bishop  continued: 
8  You  will  remember  also  what  St.  Paul  says,  '  With  the  heart 
•?ve  believe  unto  justice  ;  but  with  the  mouth  confession  is  made 
:.?nto  salvation  ;'t  you  see  therefore,  ray  dear  lady,  that  to  be 
laved,  it  is  not  sufficient  that  we  hold  the  right  faith  in  the  heart, 
but  we  must  openly  with  our  lips  process  it  to  the  world,  as  the 
martyrs  did." 

"  But  there  are  no  martyrs  in  our  times  1"  said  Emma,  in- 
quiringly. 

"  I  beg  your  pardon ;  there  are  many,  even  in  the  present 
ray;  though  of  course  not  so  many  as  in  the  first  ages  of  the 
Church,  because  Christianity  has  almost  in  every  part  of  the 
kuown  world,  triumphed  over  paganism  and  idolatry.  I  can 
plicv.*  you  several  interesting  accounts  of  different  Catholic  mis 
Eions,  ;.n  which  you  M'ill  find  more  than  one  martyr  mentioned." 

"Thank  you,  my  Lord,  I  should  like  very  much  to  see  thesr 
accounts;  but,  after  all,  the  martyrs  must  have  had  a  verygrea 
*  Matt.  x.  32.  33.  f  Rom.  *.  10. 


46  FATHER  OSWALD. 

and  extraordinary  help  from  Got!,  to  sire  them  so  much  courage," 
said  Mrs.  Sefton,  with  an  anxious  sigh. 

"  The  same  God  that  gave  them  courage,  can  give  you  cour- 
age,' replied  the  bishop  with  emotion ;  "  besides,  you  are  not 
required  to  give  your  life  for  Christ,  but  only  to  bear,  for  his 
sake,  the  displeasure  of  your  husband,  supposing  him  even  to 
be  seriously  displeased  with  you." 

"  God  only  knows,"  said  Emma,  in  a  tone  of  great  agitation, 
K  what  t  shall  have  to  bear,  if  I  attempt  to  do  this." 

"But  do  we  not  serve  a  tender  and  a  loving  Father"?"  said 
the  bishop.  "  Nay,  I  am  convinced  that,  however  He  may  per- 
mit you  to  be  afflicted  for  a  while,  He  will  console  you  in  due 
lime.  Act  generously  with  Him,  and  He  will  not  be  outdone 
vith  generosity.  From  the  very  evil  which  yon  dread  the  most. 
He  will  draw  the  greatest  good.  Take  courage,  then,  and  joy- 
fully embrace  the  cross  from  which  you  recoil,  for  the  sake  ol 
•hat  Saviour,  who.  to  save  your  immortal  soul,  died  upon  a  cross 
amid  the  most  cruel  and  protracted  torments.  Yes,  my  dear 
child,  in  order  that  you  may  possess  eternal  bliss,  He  became 
the  '  man  of  sorrows.'  " 

Emma  wept. 

"  Go  now,"  continued  the  bishop,  opening  the  door  which  led 
to  the  chapel,  and  leading  her  to  the  altar  of  the  Blessed  Sacra- 
ment, "go  now,  and  ask  that  Saviour,  in  whose  divine  and  real 
presence  you  believe,  to  give  you  the  courage  you  want ;  go, 
and  ask  Jesus  to  give  you  one  spark  of  that  divine  love  which 
ournt  in  the  breasts  of  the  martyrs." 

Emma  knelt  down  before  the  altar,  and  the  bishop  retired,  and 
leit  her  alone  with  her  God. 

She  did  pray ;  and  she  prayed  so  ferventlv  from  her  heart, 
that  He  who  has  said,  "  Ask,  and  you  shall  ree<  ive  ;  seek,  and 
vou  shall  lind ;  knock,  and  it  shall  be  opened  to  you,"*  did  give 
her  the  courage  she  so  humbly  asked  for.  In  three  weeks  from 
that  rime  Emma  was  a  Catholic.  Father  Oswald,  by  her  par- 
ticular wish,  came  over,  from  time  to  time,  from  his  mission, 
to  instruct  her  in  the  practical  duties  of  the  Catholic  religion, 
for  of  her  faith  he  had  no  doubt;  she  had  received  that  precious 
gift  from  God,  and,  with  the  docility  of  a  child,  submitted  her 
understanding  to  every  dogma  taught  by  the  Church;  he  also 
received  her  abjuration  and  heard  her  confession.  This,  indeed, 
was  a  severe  trial  for  Mrs.  Sefton ;  for,  although  in  the  eyes  ot 
the  world  the  whole  tenour  of  her  life  had  been  irreproachable, 
and  she  had  ever  been  esteemed  a  model  of  virtue  and  innocence 
vet  her  tender  conscience  smote  her  inwardly  for  many  and,  a! 
*  Luke  xi.  0. 


FATHER  OSWALD.  47 

the  thought,  grievous  transgressions  of  the  law  of  God.  To 
manifest  these  misgivings  of  her  inward  souJ  to  a  sinful  man, 
appeared  to  her  yet  unsubdued  pride,  an  intolerable  task.  But 
after  she  had  been  instructed  by  Father  Oswald  in  the  nature  of 
the  divine  precept,  and  had  been  made  sensible  of  its  reasona- 
bleness, she  strengthened  herself  with  fervent  prayer,  and  ap- 
proached, with  trembling  limbs,  to  the  sacred  tribunal:  for  some 
time  she  could  not  open  her  lips ;  but,  being  encouraged  by  the 
kind  exhortations  of  the  good  father,  at  length  summoning  cour- 
age, she  mentioned  those  things  which  lay  heaviest  on  her  con- 
science; a  flood  of  tears  followed  the  avowal,  and  in  an  instant 
she  Ibund  her  heart  relieved  from  an  unsupportable  burthen. 
Father  Oswald,  with  the  kindness  of  a  parent,  consoled  and  en- 
couraged her ;  then,  enjoining  a  slight  penance  of  some  vocal 
prayers,  absolved  and  dismissed  her.  Then,  for  the  first  time 
in  her  life,  did  she  feel  truly  happy,  learning  from  experience 
how  sweet  is  the  yoke,  how  light  the  burthen  of  our  merciful 
Redeemer.  The  ?ood  bishop  shortly  after  confirmed  her,  and 
administered  to  her  for  the  first  time  the  Holy  Eucharist.  Then 
Emma  was  happy  indeed  ;  she  felt  within  her  breast  a  satiety 
of  peace — a  fulness  of  hope,  of  which  before  she  had  not  the 
slightest  idea.  While  a  Protestant,  she  had  always  felt  with 
regard  to  her  religion,  that  there  was  a  something  wanted,  and 
that  there  was  an  undefinable  uncertainty  of  ideas  in  her  mind, 
a  painful  uneasiness  lurking  about  her  heart,  which  prevented 
her  ever  being  able  to  say,  with  decision  and  without  doubt,  I 
am  certain  that  I  am  in  the  right  road  to  Heaven.  But  now  it 
was  quite  otherwise ;  there  were  no  misgivings  in  her  heart — 
no  vagueness  in  her  ideas;  both  her  heart  and  her  understand- 
ing told  her  she  was  in  possession  of  the  right  faith,  and  this 
certainty  produced  an  indescribable  peace  and  happiness  through 
ner  whole  soul.  She  knew  now  there  was  but  "one  faith,  one 
baptism,  one  God,"  and  she  wondered  within  herself  that  she 
could  have  remained  so  long  in  the  trying  state  of  interior 
doubts,  and  uncertainties,  and  sufferings,  which  she  had  endun.-d 
for  many  months  past.  Now  all  was  light,  and  peace,  and  joy 
in  her  soul :  her  innocent  pleasure  and  zest  in  all  her  daily  du- 
ties and  occupations  returned  double  fold  ;  she  seemed  to  be 
blessed  with  a  new  existence.  Sometimes,  to  be  sure,  the 
thoughts  of  what  Edward  might  say  came  across  her  mind  ;  but 
her  faith  was  so  firm  in  that  God  "  who  tempers  the  wind  to  the 
shorn  lamb,"  that  she  abandoned  herself  with  an  entire  confi- 
dence into  the  arms  of  her  heavenly  Father ;  and  placed  all  her 
hopes  for  defence  and  protection  in  "Him  who  slumbereth  noi, 
nor  sJeepeth." 


FATHER  OSWALD. 


CHAPTER    VIII. 

"Sweetest  Saviour,  richest  blessing, 
Thou  the  wounded  heart  caressing, 
Driest,  ere  it  fill,  the  te;ir. 
All,  save  thee,  will  but  deceive  us  ; 
All,  save  thee,  can  only  grieve  us  ; 
Let  the  world  of  all  bereave  us, 
With  thy  love  »  e  know  no  fear." — CATUOLTC  limn. 

A  FEW  weeks  more,  and  Edward  returned.  He  was  delighted 
to  clasp  again  to  his  breast  his  wife  and  little  ones,  and  he  was 
particularly  rejoiced  to  perceive  the  evident  improvement  in 
Emma's  spirits  and  appearance.  All  her  natural  amiable  vi- 
vacity and  sweet  cheerfulness  had  returned;  her  eye,  which  had 
latterly  become  downcast,  was  again  lit  up  with  its  dove-like 
lustre  ;  and  her  cheek,  which  for  some  months  had  been  pallid, 
again  resumed  the  returning  bloom  of  health  ;  she  had  never 
appeared  to  the  eyes  of  her  husband  more  lovely  nor  more  inter- 
esting. The  general  would  keep  Ihem  a  little  longer,  and  these 
were  to  Emma  days  of  pure  and  delicious  happiness.  At 
length  the  day  of  parting  came,  and  they  returned  to  Sefton  Hal!. 
Emma  knew  that  she  was  under  an  obligation  of  hearing  mass 
on  all  Sundays  and  holidays,  from  which  nothing  could  exempt 
her  but  sickness  or  serious  inconvenience:  she  felt  very  much 
embarrassed  at  thinking  how  she  could  fulfil  this  duty  without 
attracting  Edward's  notice  and  incurring  his  anger.  The  first 
Sunday  after  their  return  home,  she  availed  herself  of  an  en- 
gagement previously  made,  of  visiting  a  lady,  a  Catholic  friend 

of  hers,  who  lived  in  the  neighbouring  town  of  D ,  to  go 

there,  and  thus,  besides  paying  her  a  visit,  was  able  to  hear 
mass  also.  The  next  Sunday  she  did  not  find  it  so  easy,  as 
Edward  asked  her  to  go  with  him  to  church  ;  however,  she  de- 

.ermined  that  when  they  had  arrived  at  D she  would  make 

a  request  of  being  allowed  to  remain  with  her  friend  \vhil..  her 
husband  went  to  church  :  she  did  so,  and  thus  was  able  to  hear 
mass  another  lime,  without  exciting  suspicion.  During  the  en- 
suing week,  Edward  mentioned  to  her  that  he  thought  they 
should  take  the  Sacrament  the  following  Sunday,  as  they  had 
been  some  time  from  home.  Emma  changed  colour,  and  fell 
very  much  frightened  ;  but  as  Edward  was  writing  a  letter  when 
he  made  this  observation,  he  neither  observed  her  confusion, 
nor  noticed  that  she  had  given  him  no  answer.  Emma  felt 
very  uneasy  all  the  week;  but  she  prayed  a  great  deal  that  God 
would  give'  her  strength  to  act  rightly,  and  not  to  deny  her  faith 


FATHER  OSWALD.  49 

On  the  last  day  of  the  week,  Mr.  Sel'ton  after  breakfast  said  lo 
his  wife — 

•'•  I  will  thank  you.  Emma,  to  mention  in  the  family  that  to- 
rr.orrow  is  Sacrament  Sunday  ;  and  to  give  orders  for  Thomas 
tu  have  the  carriage  and  horses  at  the  door  by  nine  o'clock,  be- 
cause it  will  be  better  to  go  a  little  earlier,  you  know,  love." 

"  Edward,  1  do  not  think  I  shall  be  able  to  go  with  you  ti- 
rnorrow,"  said  Emma  timidly. 

"  Why  not,  love  1     I  trust,  you  do  not  feel  yourself  ill !" 

"No,  I  am  not  ill,  but . . ."  here  she  seemed  overcome,  "but..." 

"  But  what  1  what  objection  on  earth  can  you  have  to  go  with 
me  to-morrow  1" 

Emma  hesitated. 

"  It  is  some  time  now  since  you  have  been  to  church,  Emma, 
and  I  must  beg  oi'  you  as  a  favour  to  go  with  me  there  to-mor- 
row.1' 

Emma  was  silent. 

"  This  is  not  like  your  usual  conduct,  Emma.  I  need  scarcely 
tell  you,  I  think  that  not  approaching  the  temple  of  the  Lord 
and  appearing  sometimes  in  church  is  a  bad  example  to  others; 
but  I  shall  say  no  more  about  it,  lor  my  Emma  never  opposes  her 
husband's  wishes,"  said  he,  kissing  her,  "  so  it  is  all  arranged." 

Emma  looked  up  in  his  face  with  an  imploring  gaze;  then 
timidly  cast  down  her  eyes,  and  said  faintly,  "  My  dear  Edward, 
1  cannot  go." 

"  What  is  all  this  1"  said  he,  looking  at  her  sharply :  while  a 
vague  suspicion  of  ihe  truth  suddenly  flashed  across  his  mind. 

Emma  looked  terrified  and  was  silent. 

"  These  are  some  nonsensical  popish  ideas  you  have  got  into 
Vour  head."  continued  he ;  "  come,  come,  let  me  hear  them,  and 
I  will  soon  settle  them  tor  you." 

Emma  was  still  silent. 

"  Now,  Emma,"  said  Mr.  Sefton,  with  a.  determined  air,  ::  will 
you  go  with  me  to  church  to-morrow  V' 

'•  1  cannot,  Edward." 

"And  what  is  the  reason  that  you  cannot,  Emmal" 

"  My  conscience  forbids  me." 

"Why  does  your  conscience  forbid  you7?  I  cannot  under- 
stand; you  must  explain  yoursell,"  said  Edwaix/,  much  agitated. 

•'  Oh  !  Edward,  do  not  i)c  angry  with  me." 

"  I  am  not  angry  with  you,  Emma,  hut  1  must  know  what  all 
this  is  ahout ;  why  does  your  conscience  forbid  you  1  answer 
me  that." 

"  I  do  not  think  the  Protestant  religion  is  the  right  on?.1' 

"Not  the  right  one!  what  nonsense:  it  is  the  papists  who 
5* 


50  FATHER  OSWALD. 

have  put  all  this  stuff  into  your  head.  I  insist  upon  your  gcing 
to  church  with  me  to-morrow." 

"  I  cannot,"  said  Emma,  bursting  into  tears ;  c:  I  can  never 
more  join  in  Protestant  worship." 

"  No  !  and  why  notl"  exclaimed  her  husband,  fixing  his  gazo 
intently  on  her. 

"  Because  I  have  embraced  the  Catholic  religion,"  said  she, 
in  a  mingled  tone  of  firmness  and  anguish. 

"  You  a  Catholic !"  answered  Edward,  turning  pale;  "what 
("o  I  hear  1  Oh  my  God !  .  .  .  Emma,  you  have  not  dared,  no, 
surely  you  have  not  dared  to  do  such  an  act  as  this.  But  no, 
my  poor  clear  wife  !  they  have  deceived  you,  they  have  deluded 
you.  You  little  know  what  papists  are ;  they  are  capable  of 
any  thing  to  make  proselytes." 

"  No;  I  have  neither  been  deceived  nor  deluded,"  said  Mrs. 
Sefton  firmly ;  "  it  has  been  the  act  of  my  own  free  will,  on  the 
firmest  conviction  of  the  truth." 

"  But  when,  and  how,  and  where  could  you  accomplish  this  T' 
said  Edward,  with  increased  agitation. 

"  f  became  a  Catholic  when  you  left  me  at  Weetwood.'' 

''It  is,  then,"  said  Mr.  Sefton,  indignantly,  "  as  I  suspected; 
it  has  been  the  work  of  your  uncle.  Would  to  God  he  had 
never  returned !  No  doubt  he  was  aided  too,  by  that  Jesuit, 
Oswald !  You  have  had  interviews  with  him,  I  am  certain  of 
it ;  tell  me  the  truth." 

"Yes;  he  instructed  me  in  the  Catholic  religion,  but  it  was 
by  mv  own  desire." 

"  Villain  !  hypocrite !  true  Jesuit !  Who  can  follow  the  wind- 
ings of  such  wretches  1"  exclaimed  Edward  with  great  warmth. 

Emma  was  shocked  at  his  violence,  and,  summoning  courage, 
said  with  some  archness  of  look,  "Methinks  the  best  way  of 
stopping  their  audacity  would  be  to  follow  them  through  all  the 
subtleties  of  their  arguments,  and  openly  expose  their  sophistry  ; 
when  a  person  begins  to  scold,  and  use  harsh  words,  one  cannot 
help  having  a  little  suspicion  that  there  is  a  tougb  adversary 
to  deal  with,  and  that  there  is  nothing  better  to  give  him  in 
reply." 

Edward  was  still  more  provoked.  "Do  not  talk  such  non- 
sense to  me,"  said  he ;  "  you  little  know  the  arts  of  Catholics  and 
Jesuits ;  but  it  is  not  yet  too  late ;  this  sad  affair  has  not  yet  be- 
come publicly  known,  and  therefore,  if  you  appear  with  me  at 
church  to-morrow,  all  will  yet  be  well." 

"Edward,"  said  Emma  firmly,  and  with  unwonted  energy, 
"  I  have  from  conviction  become  a  Catholic.  I  have  ahju-.'ikl 
the  errors  of  the  pretended  Reformation,  and  been  received  into 


FATHER  OSWALD.  5l 

che  bosom  of  the  Catholic  Church,  and  I  will  not  deny  Jesns 
Christ  before  men,  or  He  will  deny  me  before  His  Father,  who 
is  in  Heaven  " 

"  This  is  all  religious  enthusiasm — all  Catholic  cant.  I  give 
you  one  hour,  Emma,  to  make  up  your  mind,  and  to  give  me 
your  answer;  but  bewarev"  said  he  sternly,  "  Ibr  if  you  con- 
tinue obstinate,  you  will  rue  it  to  the  last  hour  of  your  life." 

When  Mr.  Sefton  had  left  the  room,  Emma  sunk  on  her 
knees :  she  trembled  so.  that  she  could  not  stand — she  held  both 
her  hands  lightly  over  her  throbbing  heart — she  scarcely  knew 
where  she  was,  nor  what  she  felt,  so  great  was  the  sense  of  op- 
pression and  terror  which  overwhelmed,  her.  Alter  a  few 
minutes,  a  deep  sigh  burst  from  her,  and,  clasping  her  hands, 
she  lifted  them  to  heaven,  and  said  with  intense  fervour,  "  Jesus 
Christ,  Lord  of  all  things,  Thou  seest  my  heart — Thou  knowest 
my  desire,  possess  alone  all  that  I  am.  I  am  thy  sheep,  Thou 
aft  my  Shepherd ;  I  was  thy  strayed  and  lost  sheep ;  out  of  thy 
pure  goodness  and  tender  mercy  Thou  hast  sought  and  brought 
me  back,  like  the  good  shepherd,  to  thy  own  fold.  Oh  !  speak 
to  my  soul,  for  I  am  willing  to  hear  thy  voice,  and  give  me 
strength  to  overcome  the  wiles  of  the  enemy,  the  allurements  ol 
the  flesh,  and  the  strong  attachments  of  my  nature.  Let  no 
earthly  considerations  ever  separate  me  from  thy  love.  Be 
thou  my  God,  ray  protector,  my  salvation."  She  continued  in 
ardent  prayer  during  that  fearfully  anxious  hour  which  passed 
before  her  husband's  return ;  and  He,  who  never  forsakes  those 
that  trust  in  Him,  did  he.tr  her  humble  cry,  and  He  filled  her 
heart  with  a  calm  and  determined  courage  of  which  she  could 
never  have  believed  it  capable.  When  Edward  re-entered  the 
room,  Emma  rosa  from  her  knees,  and  stood  meekly  before  him. 
He  drew  her  kindly  towards  him,  and  placing  her  on  the  sofa, 
he  seated  himself  close  to  her.  "  I  am  come,"  said  he,  "to  hear 
from  the  lips  of  my  own  Emma,  that  she  will  be  to  me  all  she 
has  ever  been  ;  to  hear  her  tell  me,  that  the  wife  of  my  bosom 
and  the  mother  ol*  my  children  will  realize,  as  she  has  hitherto 
done,  all  the  fond  and  ardent  dreams  of  my  first  affection." 

Emma  threw  her  arms  passionately  round  her  husband's 
neck  ;  his  voice  faltered  as  he  added,  "  To-morrow  you  will  go 
ivith  me  to  receive  the  Lord's  Supper,  and  then  all  will  be  for- 
gotten and  forgiven." 

Emma  looked  wistfully  in  his  face,  and  she  saw  that  the  tears 
were  falling  from  his  eyes:  she  had  never  in  her  life  seen 
Edward  weep,  and  all  a  woman's  tenderness  and  love  rushed 
with  a  thrill  of  anguish  to  her  heart;  she  clasped  her  hands  in 
agony.  "  Oh !  my  God,"  exclaimed  she,  "  help  me."  And 


5»2  FATIIKR  OSWALD. 

then,  alter  a  pause  of  deep  and  fearful  agitation,  she  sa:t  in  a 
.ow,  hut  firm  and  calm  voice — 

"  Listen  to  me,  my  own  husband,  I  have  but  one  soul,  and  il 
I  lose  that,  I  shall  be  damned  for  ever;  to  save  your  life,  or  to 
procure  your  salvation,  I  would  willingly  give  my  life  at  this 
moment,  but  /must  answer  to  God  for  the  immortal  soul  He 
has  given  to  me,  and  which  is  created  to  love  Him  through  an 
endless  eternity.  It  is  God  who  will  demand  my  soul  of  me  at 
the  last  day,  the  day  ol'  judgment,  and  not  you.  I  am  convinced, 
after  much  prayer  and  deliberation,  and  mature  examinaliui 
and  reflection,  that  the  religion  I  have  embraced  is  the  only  true 
religion,  and  that  to  save  my  soul  I  must  live  and  die  a  Catholic." 

Edward  started  up  ;  she  threw  herself  on  her  knees,  and  tried 
to  cling  to  him ;  he  spurned  her  from  him,  and  rushed  out  of  the 
room. 

In  a  few  minutes,  she  heard  a  horse  galloping  past  the  win- 
dows, a  crowd  of  vague  and  undefmable  terrors  passed  through 
her  mind  ;  she  remained  motionless  on  the  spot  where  Edward 
had  left  her,  till  she  was  roused  by  the  cries  of  her  little  infant, 
whom  the  nurse  brought  to  be  suckled.  She  took  the  child  and 
mechanically  placed  it  at  her  breast ;  the  nurse  seeing  there 
was  something  the  matter,  immediately  retired,  and  left  her 
alone  with  her  baby.  When  she  had  had  it  a  little  while  in 
her  arms,  her  tears  began  to  flow,  which  gave  her  some  relief; 
she  pressed  the  child  so  tightly  to  her  heart,  that  the  little  inno- 
cent bit  her  breast,  and  then  paused  in  its  sweet  labour  to  gaze 
in  its  mother's  face ;  but  seeing  her  smile  upon  it  through  her 
tears,  it  again  closed  its  little,  eyes,  and  abandoned  itself  to  all 
the  luxury  of  infantine  love.  "  And  when  thou  shalt  be  a  man, 
wilt  thou  too  spurn  thy  mother !"  said  she,  fondly  caressing  it, 
"  but  now,  oh !  now  at  least,  thou  lovest  me  entirely,  and  1  am 
all  to  thee." 

What  a  long,  long  day  did  that  seem  to  poor  Emma.  Mr. 
Sefton  did  not  return,  and  a  thousand  distracting  thoughts  and 
tears  racked  her  brain.  At  length,  very  late  at  night,  she  put 
her  babe  into  its  cradle,  and  gave  it  the  last  kiss  for  the  night. 
Alas !  little  did  she  think  it  was  the  last  for  a  long  and  gloomy 
period ;  it  slept  with  its  nurse  in  a  little  room  next  to  hers,  that 
she  might  hear  it  if  it  cried  in  the  night ;  but  she  did  not  hear  il 
all  that  night :  for,  worn  out  by  mental  exertion  and  anxiety, 
she  fell  into  a  profound  sleep,  and  did  not  awake  till  late  the 
next  morning.  She  immediately  rung  for  her  child  ;  but  when 
the  door  opened,  it  was  not  the  nurse  and  her  baby  who  entered, 
but  her  own  maid.  Mrs.  Ashton.  Mrs.  Ashton  had  received 
Emma  into  her  arms  when  she  was  born,  and  had  never  after 


FATHER  OSWALD.  S 

been  separated  from  her ;  it  would  have  beer  difficult  to  havr. 
found  a  more  faithful  and  attached  domestic.  The  moment 
Emma  saw  her  face,  she  knew  something  was  wrong. 

"  Ashton,"  said  she,  in  a  voice  of  alarm,  "  what  is  the  matter  7 
How  are  the  children  1  Where  is  my  baby  V 

"  Oh,  my  poor  child !  oh,  rny  dear  Madam !"  exclaimed 
Ashton,  wringing  her  hands,  "  be  calm;  do  not  for  God's  sake 
alarm  yourself." 

"  I  will  not  alarm  myself,"  said  Emma  firmly;  "but  do  yov. 
fell  me  the  plain  truth  instantly." 

"  Then,  Madam,  my  master  came  back  early  this  morning 
*-ith  Uvo  carriages,  and  took  away  the  children  and  the  nurse." 

"Not  the  babv  V 

"Yes,  Madam,  all.  all." 

"  Merciful  God  !"  exclaimed  Emma,  "  can  it  be  true  V  and 
she  sunk  in  a  swoon  in  the  arms  of  her  attendant. 

Mrs.  Ashton  rung  ibr  assistance,  and  when  Emma's  senses 
returned,  she  said,  in  a  low  and  tremulous  voice,  taking  hold  of 
poor  Ashton's  hand,  who  was  tearfully  watching  over  her,  "  Send 
directly  for  my  uncle." 

Mrs.  Ashton  did  as  she  was  desired  to  do  ;  and  did  also  the 
best  in  her  power  to  restore  and  comfort  her  poor  young  mistress ; 
but  Emma  spoke  not;  in  her  heart  she  thanked  God  that  He 
had  given  her  strength  to  go  through  this  bitter  trial  without 
denying  Him.  She  repeated  over  and  over  to  herself,  "  Thy 
will  be  done  on  earth  as  it  is  in  Heaven,"  with  an  humble  and 
calm  hope  within  her  coul  that  God  would  not  leave  her  without 
support  in  whatever  trials  he  might  please  to  appoint  her  yet  tc 
endure.  In  a  few  hours,  violent  fever  naturally  succeeded,  and 
when  her  uncle  arrived,  she  did  not  recognize  him,  and  was  as 
totally  insensible  of  his  presence  as  she  was  of  the  remembrance 
of  the  injustice  and  violence,  which  had  brought  on  the  sudden 
and  dangerous  illness,  that  confined  her  to  her  bed  ibr  many 
long  and  tedious  weeks. 


*  Eph.  :v.  5.  t  John  .x   19. 

t  lieb.  xi.  6  t)  James  v.  14.  15. 


54  FATHER  OSWALD 


CHAPTER   IX. 

'  Alas  !  we  listen  to  our  own  fond  hopes. 
Even  till  they  scern  no  more  our  fancy's  children  , 
We  put  them  on  a  prophet's  robes,  endow  them 
With  prophet's  voices,  and  then  Heaven  speaks  in  them 
And  that  which  we  would  have  be,  surely  shall  te." 

WHEN  the  events  related  in  the  last  chapter  occurred.  Harriet 
was  not  at  Sefton  Hall,  but  some  forty  miles  distant,  on  a  visit 
.o  a  friend.  She  was  extremely  surprised  and  concerned  at 
receiving  one  morning  a  letter  from  her  brother.  She  opened  it 
with  a  trembling  hand,  fully  persuaded  that  it  would  announce 
some  dire  event;  lor  a  croaking  raven  had  flown  across  her 
path  in  her  evening  walk  the  preceding  day.  Her  superstitious 
i'ears,  however,  were  somewhat  abated  when  she  read  that 
Emma  had  declared  herself  a  Catholic,  and  that  her  brother 
had  in  consequence  thought  it  righi  to  remove  the  children  from 
her ;  adding,  that  he  had  placed  them  at  Eaglenest  Cottage,  on 
his  property  in  Devonshire,  being  resolved  to  try  what  rigour 
would  do,  to  compel  his  wile  to  retract  the  errors  and  abomina- 
tions of  popery.  He  concluded  by  begging  Harriet  to  relurn  as 
soon  as  possible  to  Seflon  Hall,  in  order  to  report  to  him  the 
exact  state  of  things  there,  and  to  assist  in  bringing  Emma  back 
to  her  duty.  This  letter  both  surprised  and  grieved  Harriet ;  it 
surprised  her,  because,  though  she  knew  the  sternness  of  her 
brother's  character,  she  never  could  have  imagined  he  would 
have  shown  such  unreasonable  severity  towards  a  wife  to  whom 
he  was  devotedly  attached ;  it  grieved  her,  because  she  herself 
loved  Emma  with  the  affection  of  a  sister,  and  knew  well  her 
excellent  and  exemplary  conduct  as  a  wife,  a  mother,  and  a 
I'riend.  Harriet's  ideas  of  liberty  of  conscience  were  very  exten- 
sive, and  she  could  in  no  wise  reconcile  it  to  her  ideas  of  right 
and  wrong,  that  people  should  be  restrained  in  their  own  opin- 
ions on  religious  matters,  more  especially  those  who  did  no 
harm  to  their  fellow-creatures;  and  not  only  did  she  know  that 
Mrs.  Sefton  did  no  harm  to  any  one,  but  she  was  fully  aware 
that  she  did  much  good,  and,  moreover,  made  all  around  her 
happy.  "  Well,"  said  she  to  herself,  as  she  sloAvly  folded  up  her 
brother's  letter,  "  I  am  very  sorry  for  all  this ;  but  certainly  1 
thought  that  raven  note  foreboded  something  worse  ;  I  never 
heard  a  raven  croak  on  my  left  hand  that  something  ill  did  not 
happen ;  and,  now  I  recollect,  both  the  cats  turned  their  tails 
to  the  /'  •  Vst  night,  and  I  never  knew  that  fail  to  produce  some 


FATHER  OSWALD.  55 

nnbrr.glio  or  another ;  still  I  think  there  is  much  ado  abou 
nothing.  It  seems  to  me  the  best  thing  I  can  do  is,  to  go  imme- 
diately to  poor  Emma;  besides,  if  I  write  to  my  brother,  only 
having  heard  his  side  of  the  question,  I  shall  probably  give  my- 
self a  great  deal  of  useless  trouble  to  no  purpose:  for  I  hate 
\vriting  letters  at  any  time,  especially  on  other  people's  concerns. 
But  then,  again,  ho\v  vexatious  it  is  to  have  to  leave  my  friend 
in  such  a  bustle !  when  I  thought  1  was  quite  comfortably 
settled  here,  with  nothing  to  do  but  enjoy  myself  for  anothei 
month  at  least  to  come.  Out  upon  the  raven  !  Fie  upon  the 
cats !  Well,  I  must  have  patience.  I  have  heard  it  said  '  one 
cannot  go  smack  smooth  to  Heaven  ;'  so  I  suppose  there  is  no 
help  for  it.  Let  me  see,  to-morrow  is  Thursday — that  is  a 
lucky  day.  I  would  not  set  out  on  the  following  day  for  all  the 
world."  So  saying,  she  gave  orders  for  her  departure,  and 
before  eight  o'clock  the  next  morning  was  on  the  road  to  Seftcn 
Hall.  This  promptness  in  Harriet  was  really  an  exertion  of 
friendship ;  for  being  a  lady  of  considerable  embonpoint,  and 
nabitually  indolent  and  passive  in  her  disposition,  it  required  a 
strong  impulse  to  produce  any  exertion  above  the  ordinary 
routine  of  a  very  easy  and  quiet  life.  Her  dislike  to  mental 
exertion  was  in  the  same  ratio  as  her  disinclination  to  locomo- 
tion, and  hence  arose  her  favourite  maxim  of  every  one  thinking 
and  acting  as  fancy  dictated,  and  her  frequent  surprise  at  what 
appeared  to  her  the  useless  trouble  people  often  took  to  maintain 
their  opinions,  even  on  matters  of  indifference ;  whereas  a 
quiet  acquiescence,  or  simple  silence,  in  all  things  where  there 
was  no  evident  crime,  was  what  she  always  employed,  and 
recommended  to  the  practice  of  others.  Alas !  in  the  land  of 
Bibles  and  of  religious  license,  she  had  frequent  occasion  to 
exercise  her  patience.  The  nearer  she  approached  to  Sel'ton 
Hall,  the  more  anxious  she  felt;  it  was  a  bitter,  cold,  wintry 
day,  the  ground  covered  with  snow,  and  the  northern  bins 
howling  through  the  trees.  As  she  drove  through  the  loiij 
avenue,  she  passed  general  Russell,  who  was  pacing  slow!) 
towards  the  house,  with  his  arms  folded  and  his  eyes  on  th< 
ground.  At  the  sound  of  the  carriage  wheels,  he  looked  up . 
there  was  a  deep  melancholy  on  his  brow,  but  a  smile  of  plea- 
sure and  surprise  lit  up  his  countenance  when  he  recognizea 
Harriet,  and  he  quickened  his  steps  to  follow  the  carriage  to  the 
Hall.  Harriet  was  painfully  struck  with  the  air  of  melancholy 
desolation  about  the  place ;  nearly  all  the  windows  in  the  house 
were  closed,  and  when  the  old  butler  opened  the  door,  and  she 
found  herself  within  the  fine  old  Hall,  she  saw  there  was  no 
blazing  fire  within  its  ample  chimney,  nor  sign  of  comfort,  nor 
welcome,  as  was  wont  to  be, 


56  FATHER  OSWALD. 

"  Oh  Miss  Harriet !  is  it  you!"  said  old  Willdns.  "I  am 
right  glad  to  see  you,  Madam  :  but,  Lord  bless  me  !  your  room? 
will  be  as  cold  as  the  North  Park  ;  there  has  not  been  a  fire  in 
them  these  weeks  and  weeks  past." 

"Never  mind  that,"  said  Harriet,  impatiently;  t:  that  incon- 
venience is  easily  remedied,  my  good  Wilkins ;  but  how  is 
Mrs.  Sefton  1  Where  is  she  1  Pray  show  me  into  her  room 
Immediately." 

"  Oh,  Mi.ss !  sad  changes  since  you  were  gone.  My  pool 
master — who  could  have  ever  thought  it — would  you  believe 
Miss  Harriet"  popery,  rank  popery,  in  his  own  house." 

Harriet  made  a  move  to  pass  him,  saying,  "  I  have  heard  my 
sister  is  ill.  and  I  wish  immediately  to  see  her,"  muttering  a1 
the  same  time  to  herself,  "  1  knew  there  was  ill  foreboded  by 
that  unlucky  raven." 

"  To  be  sure.  Ma'am,  to  be  sure."  said  the  old  Butler  wiu 
deference;  "and then  I  will  tell  the  housekeeper  to  put  your 
rooms  in  order.  My  poor  mistress  is  still  confined  to  her  bed, 
Miss,"  continued  the  good  butler,  tapping  very  gently  at  hei 
door. 

Mrs.  Ashton  came  out,  and  started  when  she  saw  Harriet. 

"Oh,  Ma'am  !  God  bless  you;  my  poor  mistress!  We  have 
need  of  comfort  here  ;  but  I  had  best  speak  to  her  before  you 
come  close  to  the  bed,  Miss." 

"  Yes,  do  so,"  said  Harriet,  scarcely  able  to  articulate. 

Harriet  approached  the  bed,  and  Emma  made  an  effort  of 
joyful  surprise  to  raise  herself  up  to  fold  her  in  her  arms,  but 
sank  exhausted  on  her  pillow ;  and  Harriet  burst  into  an  agony 
of  tears,  when  she  beheld  the  emaciated  form  that  lay  beforo 
her :  she  was  obliged  to  leave  the  room,  and  it  was  some  time-, 
ere  the  sisters  could  see  one  another  without  mutual  agitation, 
and  emotion. 

"  I  will  certainly  write  to  my  brother,  an  account  of  the  state  1 
find  her  in,"  said  Harriet  to  the  General,  "  and  try  to  persuade 
him  of  the  folly  of  his  conduct." 

"  Rather  say  of  the  cruelty,  injustice,  and  bigotry  of  his  con- 
duct/' exclaimed  the  General,  indignantly. 

"Nay,  nay,  my  good  General,  not  so  bad  as  that  neither; 
for  Emma  certainly  ought  not  to  have  taken  the  step  she  has 
done,  knowing,  as  she  did,  how  displeasing  it  was  sure  to  be  to 
Ed  ward." 

"So  you  would  have  had  her  lose  her  soul  to  please  her  hus- 
band !  but,  putting  that  trifling  consequence  of  rejecting  the 
truth  aside,  Miss  Sefton  must  be  aware,  that  one  essential  part 
of  the  Protestant  religion  is  libcrtv  of  conscience  m  the  Iree 


FATHER  OSWALD.  57 

interpretation  of  Scripture:  now,  if  my  niece  chose  to  interpret 
some  of  the  most  forcible  texts  of  Scripture  in  favour  of  the 
Catholic  Church,  I  should  like  to  know  what  consistent  Protes- 
tant has  a  right  to  persecu'e  her  ?" 

"  Very  true,  General ;  very  true/'  said  Harriet,  alarmed  at 
the  idea  of  a  discussion ;  for  my  part,  I  think  all  religions  are 
equally  good,  if  a  person  only  lives  up  to  them;  and  I  am  sure 
no  one  could  be  a  better  Christian  than  Emma  was,  nor  a  better 
wile,  nor  mother;  and  my  opinion  is,  there  is  much  ado  about 
nothing,  and  so  I  shall  take  care  and  tell  Edward." 

Harriet  accordingly  wrote  a  letter  to  Mr.  Sefton,  remonstra- 
ting with  him  on  his  conduct  towards  his  innocent  wile,  and 
describing  in  very  pathetic  terms  the  state  to  which  his  unkind- 
ness  had  reduced  her.  Mr.  Sefton  was  much  affected  by  this 
letter,  and  as  he  could  not  help  leeling  the  truth  of  some  "tf  his 
sister's  reproaches,  it  made  him  very  uncomfortable  and  angry 
with  himself,  and  consequently  still  more  angry  with  poor  Emma. 
But  knowing  his  sister's  easy  sentiments  on  religion,  he  so- 
phistically  reasoned  himself  into  a  belief,  that  her  opinions  on 
this  point  ought  not  to  be  attended  to,  and  that  it  was  his  duty 
to  steel  his  heart  to  every  sentiment  of  compassion  arising  from 
his  wife's  illness.  In  this  frame  of  mind,  he  wrote  to  Harriet, 
expressing  his  displeasure  at  her  indifference  as  to  what  tenets 
of  faith  a  person  held,  and  exhorting  her  to  use  her  utmost  en- 
deavours to  recal  Emma  to  the  reformed  Church,  expressing 
also  his  decided  wish  that  Dr.  Davison  should  visit  her,  and 
endeavour  by  instruction  to  reclaim  the  lost  sheep  from  the  errors 
nf  popery.  "To  this  end,  he  wrote  a  letter  full  of  zeal  to  Dr. 
Davison,  entreating  him  to  do  his  duty,  and  to  give  him  detailed 
accounts  of  his  interviews  with  Mrs.  Sefton  ;  he  wrote  lastly  to 
l>oor  Emma  herself,  a  letter  beginning  with  upbraidings  and  re- 
proaches, and  ending  with  lamentations  and  expressions  of  affec- 
'ion.  Many  a  tear  did  Emma  shed  over  this  letter;  but  she 
was  yet  too  weak  to  answer  j,t ;  she  revolved  what  she  slu.uld 
say  in  return,  over  and  over  again  in  her  rnind  and  in  the  inward 
recesses  of  her  afflicted  spirit ;  and  this  increased  her  anxiety 
and  habitual  fever.  The  General  and  Father  Oswald,  who 
constantly  attended  her,  soon  perceived  she  was  laboring  under 
some  additional  uneasiness ;  it  was  not  long  ere  she  told  them 
the  reason  of  her  anxiety,  and  her  pain  at  not  being  able  to 
answer  her  husband's  letter:  that  which  had  not  occurred  to 
her  in  her  weak  and  agitated  state,  immediately  occurred  to  her 
two  friends,  namely,  for  her  uncle  to  write  at  her  dictation.  The 
letter  she  dictated  was  both  touching  and  firm; — touching,  be- 
cause it  expressed  the  sentiments  of  a  heart,  which,  though 
6 


CS  FATHER  OSWALD. 

deeply  wounded,  yet  yearned  and  overflowed  with  affection 
towards  him  whom  she  had  chosen  for  her  friend  and  protector 
during  tnis  mortal  pilgrimage; — and  firm,  inasmuch  as  it  ex 
pressed  her  fixed  determination  to  be  faithful  to  her  God,  and  tc 
live  and  die  in  the  faith  to  which  He  in  His  mercy  had  brought 
her.  After  this  letter  had  been  despatched,  she  seemed  much 
relieved,  and  the  affectionate  care  of  Harriet,  united  to  the  un- 
remitting attentions  of  the  general  and  Father  Oswald,  con- 
tributed not  a  little  to  place  her  in  a  convalescent  state.  In  the. 
meantime,  Dr.  Davison  received  Mr.  Sefton's  letter,  desiring 
him  to  go  to  Sefton  Hall,  and  endeavour  by  every  effort  to  re- 
claim his  wife  from  the  errors  of  popery.  When  this  letter  \v;;s 
brought  to  the  good  parson,  he  was  sitting  after  his  dinner  dozing 
over  a  large  fire,  with  the  "  Sportsman's  Annals"  in  his  hand. 
or  rather  on  his  knees,  whither  it  had  inadvertently  si ipt,  after 
many  vain  endeavours  to  keep  his  attention  fixed  on  the  ani- 
mating contents.  "The  Lord  be  merciful  unto  me,  a  sinner !>: 
muttered  he,  with  an  indescribable  groan  of  dismay,  as  he  pe- 
rused the  contents  nf  Mr.  Sefton's  letter. 

"  Did  you  tell  me  to  ring  for  the  tea,  my  dear  1"  said  his 
wife,  who  was  sitting  with  her  back  to  her  worthy  mate,  engaged 
on  a  tambour-frame. 

"I  did  not  say  so,  Mrs.  Davison,  I  did  not  say  so,"  said  the 
Doctor  shaking  his  head,  "  though  God  knows  I  have  need  of 
something  to  keep  up  my  courage  at  this  particular  trying 
moment.  A  fine  job  cut  out  for  me,  indeed  !  as  if  I  could  do 
any  good!  as  if  I  could  stop  popery,  or  hinder  folks  following 
their  own  mad  ideas  !  But  he  always  was,  and  always  will  be 
a  fiery  zealot." 

"  Doctor  Davison,  are  you  raving,  or  are  you  dream  ing  1" 
said  his  wife,  who  not  having  perceived  the  entrance  of  the 
letter,  really  thought  the  worthy  Doctor  was  suffering  from 
uneasy  dozing. 

"I  am  neither  raving  nor  dreaming."  Answered  he,  "  I  wish 
I  was :  but  here  is  a  letter  from  that  hoi-neaded  zealot,  Edward 
Sefton,  who  wants  me  to  neither  more  nor  less  than  go  and 
bring  that  poor  wife  of  his  Knck  again  from  popery." 

"  Oh !"  said  Mrs.  Daf.-*  t. .  "  she  has  loo  much  popish  blood 
m  her  veins." 

"  Yes ;  her  father  wa.«  ;  Catholic." 

"  However,"  said  Mrs.  Davison,  "you  know  she  had  a  wor- 
my, pious  mother,  who  gave  her  an  excellent  Protestant  edu- 
cation." 

"Aye,  aje,  and  great  trouble  had  I  in  securing  that  point. 
You  remember  her  mother  promised  her  husband  on  his  death- 


FATI1EK  OSWALD.  59 

oed,  to  send  their  only  daughter  to  a  nunnery  for  her  education 
and  how  I  had  to  labour  before  I  could  quiet  her  scruples.  B,. 
all  labour  in  vain !  What  is  bred  in  the  hone,  will  never  be 
out  of  the  flesh.  What  hopes,  then,  can  there  be  of  her  con- 
rersion  1  Now,  my  dear,  think  of  my  difficulties,  think  of  the 
folly  of  attempting  such  a  thing;  ill  as  she  is,  too,  and,  what  is 
worse,  guarded  bv  that  Cerberus  of  an  uncle,  whose  very  bark 
is  enough  to  terrify  one." 

"Aye,  and  what  is  still  worse."  said  his  wife,  "constantly 
visited,  as  I  am  informed,  by  that  sly,  hypocritical  Jesuit,  Father 
Oswald,  as  they  call  him  !  however,  for  all  that,  Dr.  Davison,  I 
should  certainly  think  it  my  duty,  were  I  in  your  place,  to  make 
a  trial  at  least,  to  bring  the  poor  misguided  soul  back  from  the 
delusions  of  popery." 

"  Bless  me  !  how  you  talk,  Mrs.  Davison ;  you  had  best  take 
tie  Bible  to  her  yourself,  I  think.  How  unfortunate  is  this 
business,  just  at  the  time  when  the  grand  coursing  match  is  to 
come  off;  I  should  be  sorry  to  lose  that;  for  you  know  our 
greyhound,  Spanker,  is  entered,  and  I  must  be  there  to  see  i'air 
play.  I  will  thank  you,  however,  to  order  my  tea;  that  will 
perhaps  throw  some  light  on  tbis  difficult  matter." 

Mrs.  Davison  did  as  she  was  desired  to  do,  and  called  out  to 
Jenny  at  the  top  of  her  voice  to  bring  the  tea,  and,  added  she, 
"  bring  also.  Jenny,  at  the  same  time,  the  Doctor's  Cogninc." 

After  a  few  cups  oi'  the  refreshing  beverage  had  been  con- 
sumed, Mrs.  Davison  recommenced  her  observations. 

"Well,  Doctor,  and  what  line  of  conduct  do  you  mean  to 
adopt  in  this  very  difficult  matter  1" 

"  Why,  Mrs.  Davison,  something  I  must  do,  that  is  certain, 
or  I  fear  Air.  Seiton  is  capable  of  going  to  the  Bishop  about  it. 
I  shall  write  to  him,  however,  and  endeavour  to  soothe  him,  and 
persuade  him  that  I  will  do  my  best ;  but  I  really  think,  my 
dear,  the  most  prudent  way  to  begin,  will  be  for  you  to  go  and 
call  on  Mrs.  Seiton  first,  as  it  might  be  to  inquire  after  her 
health." 

"Well,  I  think  so  too,"  answered  his  wife,  "  and  I  will  take 
a'  the  same  time  the  Bible  with  me,  in  case  an  opportunity 
fcbouM  occur" — 

"  No,  my  dear,  no,"  interrupted  the  Doctor,  '•'  the  Bible  at 'the 
£rst  visit ! — no;  it  requires  the  greatest  possible  prudence.  Mrs. 
Davison  :  "  for,  between  ourselves,  I  may  tell  you,  J  cannot  ap- 
prove of  that  mania  for  Bible  reading  which  I/SL,  seized  upon 
Llie  people  of  the  present  day  so  universally." 

"  How  so  V  exclaimed  his  wife,  with  a  loo>  «•  great  aston- 
ishment 


60  FATHER  OSWALD. 

"Why,  do  yju  not  perceive  that  the  Church  is  in  danger; 
that  it  is  fritteied  away  into  a  thousand  discordant  sects']  and 
be.ieve  me,  the  true  cause  of  all  this  is  the  imprudent  distribution 
of  the  Bible  amongst  the  illiterate  and  vulgar.  Every  hot- 
headed zealot  reads  it,  and  invents  a  new  religion  for  himself 
and  his  silly  neighbours !  No,  no ;  it  is  high  time  we  should 
exert  the  authority  of  the  Church  to  put  down  these  accursed 
heretics." 

"  Really.  Doctor  Davison,  you  astonish  and  confound  me,  to 
hear  you  talk  in  this  style;  why,  I  thought  to  read  the  Bible 
was  the  glorious  privilege  of  Protestants." 

"  No  doubt,  no  doubt,  as  far  as  reading  goes  I  can  have  no 
objection ;  but  then  people  should  read  it  in  the  sense  of  the 
Church." 

"  Well,  really,  I  can  see  no  use  in  reading  the  Bible  at  all, 
unless  people  try  to  understand  it,  and  form  their  own  judgment 
on  it,"  interrupted  Mrs.  Davison;  ('and  pray,  Doctor,"  con- 
tinued she,  "how  can  you  bring  authority  to  bear  upon  Mrs. 
Sefton  1" 

"Aye,  there  is  the  rub,"  replied  the  Doctor  with  a  sigh. 
"  truly,  we  live  in  awful  and  perilous  times.  If  we  proclaim 
authority,  the  Papists  silence  us  in  a  moment  If  we  assert  the 
right  of  private  judgment,  the  sectaries  undermine  us.  The 
Church  has  been  brought  into  a  false  position,  and  I  do  not  see 
how  it  can  stand." 

"  Come,  come,  Doctor,  do  not  let  your  courage  down ;  I  can 
see  a  remedy.  Why,  can  you  not  harass  the  papists  with  the 
Bible,  and  awe  the  Dissenters  with  authority'?" 

"  Humph."  groaned  the  Doctor,  "that  is  an  awkward  busi- 
ness ;  yet  I  see  no  other  way  of  proceeding." 

"  Well,  then,  I  will  take  the  Bible  with  me  to  Mrs.  Sefton." 

"  No,  no,  that  will  not  do  at  all ;  Mrs.  Sefton  has  read  the 
Bible  for  years ;  and  she  will  tell  you  she  understands  it  as  well 
as  yourself.  Besides,  I  should  not  wonder  if  that  red-hot  gene- 
ral was  to  throw  the  pure  translation  of  the  Word  of  God  in 
the  Protestant  Bible  out  of  the  window.  I  have  heard  him 
&ay  strong  things  on  that  subject;  you  little  know  him,  I  assure 
you." 

"  Well,  my  dear,  I  will  be  guided  by  you ;  only  I  would  no- 
wish  to  act  too  tamely  in  such  a  cause,"  answered  his  wife. 

The  next  day,  Dr.  Davison  wrote  a  long  letter  to  Edward, 
assuring  him  of  his  grief  at  Mrs.  Sefton's  tailing  off  from  the 
pure  doctrines  of  the  Reformation  to  the  errors  of  Catholicism, 
and  concluding  with  warm  assurances,  that  he  would  exert  all 
his  learning  and  authority  to  bring  her  back  from  the  horrors  ol 


FATHER  OSWALD.  61 

popery.  Mr.  Sefton  was  much  pleased  with  this  letter,  anc 
iondl y  flattered  himself  that  the  doctor  would  succeed.  He  cculd 
not  imagine  that  Emma,  separated  from  her  little  ones  and  from 
him,  would  be  long  ere  she  made  up  her  mind  to  grant  the 
wished-for  concession  ;  for  he  knew  well  that  theory  and  prac- 
tice are  very  different,  and  that  the  courage  and  perseverance 
of  the  happy  and  contented  wife  and  mother  might  be  very  dif- 
ferent from  the  courage  and  perseverance  of  the  bereaved  mother 
and  comfortless  wife ;  in  fine,  he  fully  persuaded  himself  that 
he  should  succeed,  and  anticipated  a  speedy  and  happy  return 
to  his  own  home.  How  far  his  hopes  were  realized  must  be 
related  in  another  chapter. 


CHAPTER    X 

"  Mark  you  this,  Bassanio, 
The  Devil  can  cite  Scripture  for  his  purpose." — SHAKSPEAKE. 

A  DAY  or  two  after  Doctor  Davison  had  despatched  his  letter 
lo  Devonshire,  his  favourite  little  poney,  Mouse,  was  harnessed 
lj  the  poney-cart,  and  Mrs.  Davison,  dressed  in  her  best,  pro- 
ceeded to  make  her  intended  visit  at  Sefton  Hal!.  Emma  was 
n..)\v  able  to  sit  up,  and  though,  when  Mrs.  Davison  was  an- 
nuunced,  she  felt  both  nervous  and  frightened,  yet,  with  her 
usaal  urbanity,  she  yielded  to  Harriet's  wish  that  she  should  be 
received. 

Mrs.  Davison  was  much  struck  with  the  change  in  Emma'." 
appearance,  and  being  a  personage  who  had  not  much  command 
over  her  feelings,  she  involuntarily  exclaimed — 

"  Good  God.  Mrs.  Se.'ton,  how  you  are  changed ! 

"  Yes/'  said  Emma  faintly,  and  trying  to  conceal  her  emotion. 
"  I  dare  say  I  am  changed,  for  I  have  been  very  ill  since  I  saw 
you  last." 

"  Mrs.  Sefton  is  much  better  now,  Madam,  and  I  trust  wil. 
*oon  be  entirely  restored  to  her  usual  health,"  said  Harriet 
rather  dryly. 

"  I  hope  so  indeed,  Miss  Sefton  ;  but  when  the  mind  is  ill  at 
ease,  the  body  will  not  mend.  I  know  that  Ma'am  ;  so,  for  lha! 
reason,  I  made  nothing  of  coming  a  couple  of  miles  this  bitter 
cold  day,  to  see  how  matters  were  going  on,  and  to  see  also  if  I 
could  be  of  any  use,  or  Dr.  Davisoa  e'ther;  how  sorry  will  he 
6* 


f>2  FATHER  OSWALD 

be  to  licai*  the  way  1  have  found  kind,  excellent  Mrs.  Selton  In 
but,  'all  is  not  lost  that  is  hid,  and  while  there  is  life  there  if 
hope ;'  so  we  must  trust  the  doctor  will  soon  be  able  to  bring  all 
things  quietly  about." 

"  The  hectic  of  a  moment"  flushed  Emma's  pallid  cheek,  as 
she  attempted  to  answer  the  bustling  volubility  of  Mrs.  Da  visor. ; 
it  was  but  a  passing  emotion  of  wounded  feeling  instantly  re- 
pressed, and  in  a  gentle  and  calm  tone,  she  said — 

"  I  thank  you,  Madam,  lor  your  kind  interest  about  me.  ] 
am  now  daily  recovering  my  health,  and  as  to  my  mind,  it  is, 
thank  God,  in  perfect  peace." 

"  In  perfect  peace !  that  cannot  be ;  you  can  never  persuade 
me  of  that,"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Davison, — her  zeal  getting  the 
oetter  of  all  prudence,  compassion,  and  politeness. 

"And  why  not1?"  said  Emma  mildly. 

"  Because,"  answered  Mrs.  Davison,  "  the  pitiable  idolatrous 
practices  of  the  Catholic  Religion  which  you  have  unfortunately 
embraced,  can  never  bring  peace  to  the  mind,  I  am  sure." 

"  They  are  pitiable  visionaries,  and  ignorant  fanatics,  who 
think  so,"  replied  Emma,  now  aroused  to  something  of  her 
natural  spirit.  "  I  should  have  thought  few  people  in  this  en- 
lightened century  could  yet  believe  such  fables;  idolatry  could 
certainly  never  bring  peace ;  but  the  knowledge  of  the  true 
religion  can  bring  true  peace,  and  has  brought  peace  to  me." 

"  Yes,  yes,  I  dare  say  your  new  friends  keep  their  grossest 
superstitions  out  of  your  sight  for  fear  o(  startling  you  too  soon; 
but  I  pray  God  it  may  not  yet  be  too  late  to  bring  you  back  to 
the  pure  and  primitive  religion  of  the  Bible." 

"I  do  not  know  what  you  mean,  Ma'arn,  bv  speaking  in  that 
manner:  the  Catholic  religion  condemns  superstition  as  much 
as  you  cnn  do,  and  to  be  guilty  of  supeiscition  is  torendcronescll 
culpable  before  God ;  but,  perhaps,  you  will  tell  me  what  you 
mean  by  superstition  V 

"  I  mean,  my  dear  Mrs.  Sefton,  picture-worship,  the  dreadful 
idolatry  of  the  mass,  holy  water.  I  mean,  I  mean — in  fine,  all 
the  abominations  of  the  corrupt  Church  of  Rome." 

Harriet  laughed  outright.     "I  thought,  Ma'am,"  she  r-r.id 
"  you  would  have  preached  about  omens,  dreams,  and  clu.rms. 
and  the  innocent  observance  of  birds  and  beasts.     Edward  used  ' 
to  call  that  superstition :  now  I  am  glad  to  find  he  was  mis- 
taken." 

"  Superstition,"  according  to  Johnson,  "  is  religious  reverence 
paid  to  things  which  are  not  worthy  of  such  reverence,"  ex- 
claimed General  Russell,  appearing  from  behind  a  large  Indian 
screen,  sphere  he  had  been  sitting,  reading  the  newspapers,  it, 


FATHER  OSWALD.  63 

no  very  pood  humour  at  Mrs.  Davison's  interruption  ;  "  or,  still 
more  accurate!}',  Madam,"  continued  lie,  "  superstition  is  an 
inordinate  worship  of  the  *rue  or  o;'  ?  false  divinity.  This  is 
the  definition  of  it  given  by  all  divines,  which,  with  due  defer- 
ence tc  the  wisdom  of  the  parson  in  petticoats,  is,  I  think,  quite 
as  correct  as  the  one  I  have  just  heard." 

"Lord  bless  me!  General,  is  it  you'*"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Davi 
son,  starting,  "why  you  have  put  me  into  a  tremble  from  head 
to  loot." 

"  To  accuse  us  of  superstition,"  continued  the  General,  without 
minding  Mrs.  Davison's  tremble  as  she  called  it,  "  is  then  to 
say,  that  we  either  worship  the  true  God  in  an  inordinate  man- 
ner, or  that  we  worship  false  gods,  or  that  perchance  we  r re 
guilty  of  both:  now,  will  you  tell  ine,  Mrs.  Davison,  to  which 
of  the  tenets  of  the  Catholic  Church  does  any  of  these  three 
modes  of  superstition  apply  V 

"  Really,  General,  you  make  so  furious  an  onset,  that  you 
quite  bewilder  my  poor  head,"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Davison ;  "  it 
would  require  the  Doctor  himself,  with  his  Bible  in  his  hand, 
to  answer  all  your  deep  definitions  and  learned  sentences." 

"  Well,  then,  Ma'am,  as  you  cannot  defend,  it  is  rash  in  you 
lo  attack;  but  as  you  are  aware  that  rny  niece  has  been  danger- 
ously ill,  you  must  excuse  me  if  I  request  you  to  accompany 
Miss  Sel'ton  and  myself  to  the  dining-room,  where  luncheon  is 
no  doubt  by  this  time  ready." 

Mrs.  Davison  very  reluctantly  withdrew,  telling  Emma  at  the 
same  time,  "that  as  she  was  now  able  to  sit  UP,  she  should  take 
an  early  opportunity  of  returning,  accompanied  by  Dr.  Davison, 
who  would  be  much  rejoiced  to  see  her  convalescent." 

At  length  Harriet  and  the  General  succeeded  in  getting  ihe 
loquacious  old  lady  into  the  dining-room,  where  she  consoled 
herself  with  a  hearty  luncheon  for  the  mortification  she  had 
experienced  from  what  she  called  the  General's  rudeness. 
When  they  had  left  the  room,  poor  Emma  hid  her  face  in  her 
hands,  and  burst  into  tears.  Mrs.  Davison's  visit  had  been  quiie 
unexpected,  and  the  attack  on  her  religion  still  more  so;  nei.her 
she  nor  her  uncle  had  the  least  idea  of  Edward's  plan  of  recon- 
version; for  Harriet's  sympathy  with  her  sister-in-law  was  so 
sincere,  that  she  carefully  abstained  from  giving  the  least  hint 
on  the  subject,  and  expressed  in  her  letters  to  her  brother  her 
opinion,  that  his  project  was  both  cruel  and  useless.  Emma 
fcit  all  the  painful  delicacy  or  her  situation  in  being  sepanitcd 
from  her  husband,  and  the  thoughts  of  what  the  world  and  those 
who  were  ignorant  of  the  cause  of  this  separation  would  say 
anil  think,  caused  her  many  an  anxious  moment.  At  thesr 


64  FATHKR  OSWALD. 

times  she  would  offer  up  her  keen  suffering  to  God,  and  say  : 
"  Accept  this  most  painful  sacrifice,  O  my  God,  in  union  with 
.he  dreadful  mental  agony  my  divine.  Saviour  suffered  in  the 
parden  of  Gethsemani ;"  and  then,  though  the  sense  of  her  suf- 
fering still  continued,  she  fait  a  peaceful  calm  in  her  soul,  and 
an  unspeakable  consolation  in  knowing  she  was  submil'.ing 
herself  to  the  will  of  God,  and  hearing  this  humiliation  for  His 
sake.  It  was  therefore  quite  true  what  she  had  told  Mrs.  Da- 
vison. — though  '.hat  lady  could  not  understand  it — that  she 
found  perfect  peace  after  she  had  embraced  the  Catholic  religion. 
Dr.  Davison  was  not  at  all  satisfied  with  the  account  his  wife 
gave  of  her  mission,  and  accused  her  of  imprudence,  in  hav- 
ing made  matters  worse  instead  of  better.  He  knew  enough 
of  human  nature  to  feel  satisfied,  that  open  opposition  was 
never  the  way  to  reclaim  people  from  what  they  considered  a 
high  sense  of  duty,  and,  therefore,  resolved  to  try  other  means 
to  perform  this  disagreeable  office.  From  time  to  time  he 
called  on  Mrs.  Sefton,  and  sometimes  asked  a  question  of  ex- 
planation on  different  Catholic  practices,  listening  to  hers  or  the 
General's  explanations  quietly,  with  an  air  more  of  curiosity 
than  opposition.  This  implied  deference  encouraged  Emma  to 
i'eel  gradually  an  interest  in  conversing  with  him  ;  at  least  she 
did  so  without  the  perturbation  she  lelt  at  his  first  visit.  Still 
he  saw  he  was  gaining  nothing,  and  wrote  to  Edward  stating 
how  things  were  going  on.  Edward  suggested  he  should  go 
and  reside  for  a  few  weeks  at  the  Hall,  under  the  pretext  of 
having  access  to  the  library,  on  account  of  a  work  he  had  in 
hand.  Edward,  therefore,  wrote  to  his  wife  to  that  effect,  and 
she  of  course  made  no  objection;  nor,  indeed,  had  she  the 
slightest  suspicion  of  the  real  motives  lor  the  sojourn.  Not  so 
the  General,  who  began  to  see  through  the  matter;  but  as  it 
was  not  his  house,  he  could  only  vent  his  vexation  by  grumbling 
to  himself,  and  now  and  then  expressing  his  impatience  to 
Harriet. 

"  I  kne  ,*  if.at  no  good  could  come  from  this  visit,"  observed 
flarriet;  "  for,  ever  since  the  Doctor  entered  this  house,  I  have 
heard  an  owl  hooting  before  my  windows  every  night." 

•'Pooh!  pooh!"  said  the  General,  smiling,  "don't  make 
these  vain,  senseless  observations.  The  owl  would  have  hooted 
just  the  same,  although  the  Doctor  had  been  a  hundred  mile* 
away." 

"  I  do  not  know  that,"  replied  Harriet,  with  a  solemn  shake 
of  her  head ;  "  I  never  heard  hooting  of  owls  which  did  not 
bring  some  trouble." 

"  Come,  ccnne,  take  courage,  Miss  Sefton,  the  Doctor  and  I 


FATHER  OSWAMJ.  65 

hear  the  hooting  as  well  as  you,  so  the  trouble  may  be  meant 
for  him,  or  me,  or  perchance  we  may  all  share  it  together." 

Mrs.  Sefton  was  not  yet  able  to  leave  her  sofa,  or  even  to 
stand,  but  her  friends  often  in  the  evening  assembled  round  her 
couch  to  beguile  the  tedium  of  convalescence.  On  oneofthe.se 
evenings,  in  attempting  to  change  her  position,  a  rosary  fell 
from  her  sofa  upon  the  ground.  Dr.  Davison,  who  was  sitting 
Jhe  nearest  to  her,  picked  it  up,  and  held  it  very  deliberately  in 
his  hands  for  a  few  minutes,  as  if  to  examine  its  construction  ; 
then  giving  it  back  to  jV'rs.  Sefton,  who  coloured  a  little  in  taking 
it,  he  said,  "  Is  not  this  the  thing  which  Catholics  call  Beads  1" 

"  Yes;  it  is  a  Rosary  or  Beads,"  replied  Emma. 

"And  is  it  possible  that  you,  my  dear  Mrs.  Sefton,  can  be 
guilty  of  using  such  a  mockery,"  said  the  Doctor  solemnly. 

"  Oh,  Sir!  indeed,  the  use  of  the  Rosary  is  not  a  mockery," 
exclaimed  Emma  eagerly ;  "  but,  on  the  contrary,  a  source  of 
the  most  tender  and  solid  devotion." 

"  Tender  and  solid  devotion  !  Good  God  !  what  abuse  of 
terms,"  said  the  Doctor,  somewhat  angrily. 

"Yes,"  replied  Mrs.  Seflon  firmly ;  "I  repeat  what  I  said; 
for,  in  reciting  the  Pater  No-ters  and  Ave  Marias,  Catholics  are 
taught  to  call  to  mind  and  contemplate  the  great  mysteries  of 
man's  redemption  in  the  life,  and  sufferings,  and  glories  of  Jesus 
Christ." 

"  Downright  nonsense."  said  the  Doctor  contemptuously. 

"  Protestants  who  scoff  at  the  Rosary,  understand  it  not,"  ex- 
claimed the  General  indignantly;  "hut,  'blaspheming  those 
things  which  they  know  not,  shall  perish  in  their  corruption.'  "» 

"  Softly,  softly,  General,"  said  Harriet,  smiling;  "it  is  con- 
trary to  our  Saviour's  positive  commands,  you  know,  to  use  re- 
petitions in  our  prayers  ;  I  love  to  say  short  prayers." 

"  Indeed !"  said  the  General,  dryly ;  "  I  never  heard  of  such 
a  command." 

"Perhaps  not,  Sir,"  said  the  Doctor,  with  an  air  of  triumph  ; 
"  yet,  verily,  it  is  expressly  recorded  in  the  Bible." 

"  Where  ?"  asked  the  General. 

The  Doctor  took  out  a  pocket  Bible,  and,  turning  over  th« 
1  tuves,  read,  "  When  ye  pray,  use  not  vain  repetitions,  as  ih< 
heathens  do."t  "  There,  General,  what  say  you  to  that  1" 

"  I  say  that  it  is  a  shamefully  false  translation;  in  the  origi 
nal  Greek  there  is  not  one  word  importing  '  vain  repetitions.' ' 

"Pray,  Sir,  How  do  you  render  the  Greek  1"  inquired  the 
Doctor. 

"  Thus:  '  When  ye  pray,  gabble  not  like  the  heathen.'  "j 

*  2  Peter,  ii.  12.  t  Mutt.  vi.  7. 

t  Sue  A  New  Version  of  the  Four  Gosncls  .  bv  a  Catholic  •  inloea 


(>G  FATHER  OSWALD. 

"Nevertheless,"  replied  the  Doctor,  in  a  grumbling  tone,  " 
prefer  our  own  authorized  translation." 

"  Though  it  may  be  false  7" 

"Yes;  because  it  is  more  explicit;"  and,  turning  towards 
Harriet,  "  what  is  much  worse,  we  have  here  repetitions  of  that 
idolatrous  prayer  called  the  Hail  Mary." 

"Away  with  such  cant  about  repetitions!"  interrupted  th? 
General.  "  If  repetitions  in  prayer  be  vain,  what  shall  we  sav 
of  the  inspired  David,  who,  in  one  psalrn,  repeats  twenty-seven 
times  the  same  words:  '  For  his  mercy  endureth  forever,'*  that 
is,  once  in  every  verse  1  What  shall  we  say  of  the  Seraphim, 
who  rested  not  night  and  day,  saying,  "  Holy,  holy,  holy,  Lord 
God  Almighty,  who  was,  and  who  is,  and  who  is  to  comeT? 
What  shall  we  say  to  the  example  of  our  Redeemer,  who,  in 
his  fervent  and  prolonged  prayer  in  the  garden,  'prayed  the 
third  time,  saying  the  self-same  words  V  "t 

"What  shall  we  say,  indeed,  to  that  most  touching  example,': 
said  Emma,  sighing,  "  in  Him  who  was  perfection  itself,'' 

"  This  seems  plausible  enough,"  replied  Harriet.  tij..t..,:it!"ul- 
ly ;  "  but  still  1  think  the  repetition  of  prayers  in  Latin  must  be 
a  labour  which  can  bring  no  improvement  to  the  soul." 

"  If  any  one  does  not  understand  Latin,  let  him  say  his  pray 
ers  in  English,"  answered  the  General:  "  the  Rosary  is  transla 
ted  into  all  languages,  and  is  generally  repeated  in  the  vernacu- 
lar of  each  country  ;  besides,  most  good  Catholics  have  a  deep- 
felt  consolation  in  understanding  a  little  of  the  universal  lan- 
guage of  the  Church,  and  in  being  able  to  join  in  those  prayers 
and  psalms  which  are  in  common  and  daily  use  amongst  us  ; 
particularly  at  the  holy  sacrifice  of  the  Mass.  You  would  be 
frequently  astonished  in  Italy  and  Spain  to  hear  the  most  illite- 
rate and  uneducated  amongst  the  peasants  and  common  people 
answering  even  to  antiphons  and  psalms  which  occur  but  once 
or  twice  in  the  year. 

"But  they  do  not  understand  what  they  thus  repeat  with 
their  lips  in  a  language  different  from  their  own;  how  can  they'" 
asked  the  Doctor. 

"To  be  sure  they  understand  it;  and  much  better.  I  think, 
than  your  people  understand  the  Hosannas  and  Alleluias  which 
you  teach  them  to  sing,  and  which,  you  know,  are  expressions 
of  a  far  more  difficult  language.  Catholics  generally — more 
especially  on  the  Continent — are  taught  these  little  prayers  with 
their  catechisms,  and  they  daily  hear  and  join,  more  or  less,  in 
the  Church  service.  Catholic  churches  are  not  shut  up  like 
Protestant  places  of  worship,  every  day  but  Sunday ;  in  Catholic 
countries,  religion  is  one  of  the  daily  and  hourly  concerns  oj 
*  Psalm,  cxxxv  1  Apoc  iv.  S  •  Is  vi  2  !  Malt.  *xvi.  44 


FATHER  OSWALD.  (»? 

iit>  ;  and  it  is  not  by  these  good,  simple  souls  thought  sufficient 
Tor  them  to  hear  a  dry  sermon  on  Sundays  and  read  a  chapter 
in  ihe  Bible.  No,  no,  they  know  that  unless  religion  is  daily 
practiced  and  thought  of,  it  will  not  sink  into  the  heart  and  be 
to  them  a  support  in  the  distresses  of  hie,  and  a  solace  in  their 
lighter  moments/' 

"  Well,  I  cannot  but  think  Catholic  service  unprofitable,"  said 
Harriet. 

"  Catholics  are  the  best  judges  of  what  is  profitable  to  their 
own  souls,"  said  the  General  dryly. 

"Humph!"  said  the  Doctor,  "but  you  cannot,  I  think,  so 
easily  evade,  Sir,  the  fact,  that  this  de/otion  of  the  Rosary  mus( 
necessarily  be  idolatrous,  because  I  understand  it  is  all  com- 
posed of  Hail  Marys  addressed  to  the  Virgin  V 

"  I  do  not  evade  the  fact,  Doctor  Davison,"  said  the  General, 
"  bnt  I  deny  it;  namely,  that  the  Hail  Mary,  or  any  other  prayer 
addressed  by  Catholics  to  the  Blessed  Virgin,  Mother  of  God"  is 
idolatrous.  She  is  not  an  object  of  idolatry  to  us.  but  an  object 
of  the  deepest  respect  and  veneration  ;  neither  will  1  insult  your 
understanding  by  answering  farther  to  a  charge  against  Catho- 
lics, which,  I  am  convinced,  you  do  not  seriously  believe.  You 
must  keep  in  mind,  that  the  Rosary  is  said  as  much,  or  I  should 
say  more,  in  honour  of  Christ  than  of  Mary :  for  in  every  de- 
cade we  commemorate  in  spirit  and  in  affection  some  great 
mystery  of  our  redemption  ;  and  nothing  can  be  more  grateful 
to  the  truly  Christian  soul  than  the  pious  recollection  of  what 
J  ,-sus  has  done  for  us,  and  the  part  his  Holy  Mother  bore  in  mosl 
OL  the  mysteries." 

"  It  must  be  very  difficult,  I  should  think,"  said  Harriet,  "  to 
say  the  woras  to  the  Virgin,  and  reflect  on  a  mystery  at  the 
same  time.  I  am  sure  it  is  more  than  I  could  do." 

"  And  yet  nothing  is  more  easy,"  continued  the  General,  "  to 
excite  that  reflection,  than  a  momentary  pause  in  the  A ve- Maria 
after  the  word,  Jesus,  with  a  mental  recollection  of  the  mystery 
on  which  we  are  meditating ;  such  as,  '  Who  was  made  man 
for  us, — who  was  born  for  us,'  and  so  on.  Indeed,  devotion  to 
our  Lady  can  never  be  separated  from  devotion  to  our  Lord,  as 
long  as  the  relation  between  mother  and  son  shall  subsist." 

"Oh!  indeed,  Harriet — indeed,  Dr.  Davison,"  exclaimed 
Emma,  "  this  devotion  of  the  Rosary  is  a  most  sweet,  and  solid 
devotion, — full  or  neavenly  consolations.  I  thank  God  for  the 
day  on  which  I  hist  learnt  it." 

"  I  am  glad,  mv  dear  Madam,  at  whatever  gives  you  conso- 
lation," said  the  Doctor,  bowing;  "  but  you  must  excuse  rne,  if 
f  still  think  counting  one's  prayers  by  beads  is  a  vT'  'bolish 
and  childish  practice,  as  well  as  a  great  innovation ' 


fi8'  FATHER  OSWALD. 

"Oh!  there,  Doctor,  you  mistake,  or  you  are  misinformed,'1 
said  Mrs.  Set'ton,  "  for  I  have  read  in  a  book  that  my  uncle  lent 
me,  that  it  was  the  custom  amongst  the  very  first  Saints  in  the 
earliestages,  to  count  their  prayers  and  ejaculations  by  little  round 
jiebbl.es  or  stones  used  for  that  purpose ;  now,  I  think  it  is  a  great 
improvement,  if,  since  the  time  of  St.  Dominic,  these  little  peb- 
bles, or  beads,  or  stones,  have  been  perforated  and  hung  on  a  string. 
You  are  very  fond  of  improvements,  Sir,  in  sciences,  and  even 
in  angling;  -now  why  should  we  object  to  improvements  in  the 
way  of  counting  our  prayers  1  The  holy  solitaries  in  the  first 
ages  did  not  move  much  from  their  cells ;  but  we  who  lead 
more  active  lives,  might  be  losing  our  little  pebbles  if  they  were 
loose." 

The  Doctor  smiled.  "But  I  cannot  see,''  said  he,  "what 
good  there  is  in  people  counting  their  prayers  at  all." 

"Nevertheless,  you  see  the  saints,  who  were  more  learned  in 
the  ways  of  salvation  than  we  are,  thought  otherwise,"  replied 
Emma;  "and  I  am  not  afraid  of  imitating  th°m,  especi- 
ally as  the  Church  holds  them  up  for  our  example  and  venera- 
tion." 

"  Yes,  yes,  believe  me,  the  Apostles,  Martyrs,  Confessors, 
and  Monks  knew  how  to  pray  quite  as  well  as  we  do,"  said  the 
General.  "Now  really,  Doctor,  it  seems  to  me  that  to  number 
our  prayers,  is  neither  so  foolish  nor  so  childish  as  when  yon, 
in  your  convivial  meetings,  '  Hip,  hip,  hip,'  with  three  times 
three." 

"Pooh,"  said  the  Doctor,  "  that  is  done  on  a  very  different 
occasion,  and  is  only  meant  to  preserve  a  certain  degree  of  ordei 
and  decorum." 

"As  for  the  decorum,  let  that  pass,"  replied  the  General,: 
"  but  surely  a  certain  degree  of  order  in  our  devotions  canno; 
be  displeasing  to  the  God  of  all  order,  '  who  has  ordered  all 
things  in  measure,  and  number,  and  weight.*  Besides,  if  it  be 
childish  to  number  our  prayers,  why  I  like  it  all  the  belter  for 
that;  for  Jesus  has  taught  us  to  humble  ourselves  like  little 
children,  if  we  would  enter  into  thekinsx!om  of  heaven  :  and  it 
it  be  foolish,  so  much  the  better;  for  'the  foolish  things  of  the 
world  hath  God  chosen,  that  he  may  confound  the  wise.'  "t 

Mrs.  Sefton  kissed  her  beads  with  renewed  affection,  ano 
placed  them  in  her  reticule. 

"  Pshaw,"  cried  the  Doctor,  "  a  great  deal  of  nonsense  in 
that." 

"  There  you  and  I  differ,  my  good  friend,"  replied  the  Gene- 
ral ;  "  but  I  am  aware  that  some  people  now-a-days  pride  them 
*  Wis.  xi.  21  f  1  Cor.  i.  27. 


FATHER  OSWALD.  GO 

nelves  on  certain  studiua  compositions,  which  they  consider 
perfect  models  of  prayer.  Certainly  no  one  can  object  to  these 
Terms  on  ..he  ground  of  their  not  being  sufficiently  clear,  as  far  as 
the  words  themselves  go,  which  are  very  precise ;  or,  of  their 
omissions,  for  every  want  that  can  be  conceived  is  specified  ;  but 
I  doubt  whether  our  ancestors  would  have  altogether  approved 
of  them.  They  did  not  like  long,  wordy  narrations  in  address- 
ing God,  and  even  considered  it  an  indication  ot  1\e  divine 
Spirit  when  nothing  nominally  was  sought  in  prayer,  the  rej>e- 
tition  of  ejaculations,  or  accumulated  epithets,  such  as,  'mi-e- 
ricordia  mea,'  'refugium  meum,'  'liberator  meus,' and  soon. 
is  so  much  the  more  full  of  internal  delights  as  it  is  imperteci 
in  external  expression  :  for  affection  has  this  property,  that  the 
more  fervent  it  is  within  the  heart,  the  less  can  it  be  developed 
externally  by  the  voice.  Did  not  St.  Francis  of  Assisium.  end 
other  holy  men  spend  whole  nights  in  repeating  only  '  Deus 
meus,  et  omnia'  V 

'•  To  be  sure,"  said  Harriet  hesitatingly,  "  the  Lord's  Prryer 
rontains  much  more  than  is  expressed;  and  the  sick  that  were 
healed  by  Jesus  as  related  in  the  gospel,  expressed  themselves 
in  very  short  and  simple  sentences." 

"  Yes,  and  often  repeated  them,  too,"  said  the  General 
<:  Witness  the  blind  man  of  Jericho,  who  could  not  be  made  to 
hold  his  peace,  but  kept  ri'p.'afinn  and  crying  out, '  Jesus,  Son 
of  David,  have  mercy  on  me.'  But  Emma,  my  dear,"  continued 
he.  observing  his  niece  somewhat  exhausted,  "we  will  not  talk 
more  now,  but  leave  you  to  go  quietly  to  bed  ;  I  fear  we  have 
kept  you  up  a  little  too  long." 

Dr.  Davison  kindly  wished  Mrs.  Sefton  good-night,  but 
added,  "that  he  thought  she  would  find  it  very  difficult  to  ex- 
plain away  the  absurdity  of  many  of  the  devotions  used  by  the 
Catholic  Church." 

"  Doctor,  I  defy  you,"  said  the  General  with  much  gravity- 
l:  I  will  challenge  you  to-morrow  to  name  any  Catholic  devotiot 
you  please,  and  I  will  undertake  to  cle;;r  it  of  the  charge  of  ab- 
surdity :   let  us  see  what  an  old  soldier  can  do,  when  pitted 
against  a  learned  Divine." 

"  I  accept  the  challenge,"  said  the  Doctor  stoutly  and  good- 
liumouredly,  as  he  closed  the  door  after  him,  leaving  Mrs.  Sef- 
£on  to  her  accustomed  orisons  and  repose. 

"Good  night,  Miss  Harriet,"  said  the  General,  smiling  "anJ 
don't  fear  the  hooting  of  the  owl :  you  see  the  trouble  has  lallen 
on  the  Doctor  this  evening,  at  least." 


70  FATHER  OSWALD. 


CHAPTER    XI. 

"  The  literal  sense  is  hard  to  flosh  and  blood  ; 
Uut  nonsense  never  could  be  understood." — DRYBEN 

DOCTOR  Davison  reflected  much  during  the  following  morn- 
ing, what  point  against  the  Catholic  religion  it  would  be  advi- 
sable to  bring  forward  in  his  evening  conference  with  the  Gene- 
ral :  he  thought  of  picture-worship,  images  of  the  Cross,  and 
especially  of  the  Saints  of  churches;  but  he  had  a  sort  of  vague 
idea  in  his  mind,  that  these  charges  against  Catholics,  as  far  as 
the  accusation  of  idolatry  went,  were  not  altogether  true,  and  if 
he  brought  them  forward  he  feared  the  General's  sarcasm  and 
ridicule.  No,  said  he  to  himself,  I  will  goon  more  solid  and 
serious  ground ;  I  will  boldly  attack  the  idolatry  of  the  Mass. 
According!}',  he  spent  most  of  the  morning  in  the  library,  fum- 
bling over  the  Protestant  divines  most  likely  to  refresh  his 
memory  ;  he  believed  all  that  he  had  ever  rend  or  heard  against 
•Catholics  on  this  point.  ?ml  had  no  doubt  but  that  he  should 
make  an  impression  on  Mrs.  Sefton  at  least,  if  he  should  even 
Tail  with  the  General.  ''Yes,1'  exclaimed  he  triumphantly  to 
Harriet,  rubbing  his  hands  with  exultation,  as  they  returned 
from  their  walk  before  dinner,  "  you  shall  see  what  a  drubbing 
>I  will  give  that  old  Gener.-;!  this  evening." 

"  Don't  be  too  sure  of  that,"  observed  Flarriet ;  "  he  is  not  at 
•ail  so  easily  dealt  with." 

"  But  my  attack  to-night  shall  be  so  well  managed,"  persisted 
;the  Doctor,  "  that  he  must  beat  a  retreat." 

"  I  see  something  that  is  in  your  favour,"  said  Harriet,  "  or  I 
'mistake  much." 

"  What  do  you  mean  1     I  don't  understand." 
"Why,  Doctor,  do  but  look  at  that  fallow  field  to  the  right." 
"Well,  I  seethe  field,  and  two  chattering  magpies;  that  is 
•a!.." 

"  And  plenty  too,  I  think,"  said  Harriet;  "don't  you  know 
what  this  signifies  V 

"Not  I ;  they  are  picking  out  the  grubs,  I  suppose,  as  I  hope 
wo  pick  out  the  General's  superstitions." 

"  No,  no ;  no  such  thing:  the  old  proverb  gives — speaking  cf 
s,  that  is,  magpies — the  following  rule : — 
"  One  of  sorrow, 
Two  of  mirth, 
Three  a  wedding. 
And  four  a  birth  " 


FATHER  OSWJI.I).  7l 

"Pshaw!  pshaw!  tush!  tush!  nonsense,  Miss  Harriet !  how 
can  you  believe  such  idle  sayings'!" 

"  I  do  believe  them,  though,"  continued  Harriet,  as  she  slowly 
ascended  the  stairs  to  arrange  her  dress  for  dinner,  "  for  I  have 
often  and  often  seen  them  come  true." 

In  the  evening  the  Doctor  was  the  last  to  join  the  little  circle 
round  Emma's  fireside;  as  he  approached  with  a  serious  and 
mysterious  face,  the  General  flourished  his  snuff-box  in  ths 
air,  exclaiming,  as  he  offered  his  antagonist  a  pinch,  "You 
have  made  the  ladies  wait,  Reverend  Sir,  you  have  made  them 
wait." 

'•  The  seriousness  of  the  subject  I  am  going  to  bring  forward, 
must  claim  your  indulgence,  ladies,  for  this  delay,"  answered 
the  Doctor,  bowing  with  much  solemnity. 

"  Well,"  said  Emma,  smiling,  "no  excuse  is  necessary.  I 
understand  from  Harriet,  that  you  have  been  very  busy  all  day, 
brushing  up  your  arms  for  the  combat." 

"  Yes,  Ma'am,  I  have  been  in  the  library  most  of  the  morn- 
ing, notwithstanding  there  is  a  brace  of  woodcocks  in  the  copse, 
about  the  cress  spring,  which  was  very  tempting.  You  shall 
soon  see,  however,  the  success  of  my  more  serious  morning's 
work." 

"  Don't  sound  the  trumpet  before  you  have  gained  the  victory, 
Sir,"  said  the  General ;  "  but  let  us  hear  the  accusation  against 
tis  this  evening." 

"  Well,  then,  the  accusation  I  bring  against  Catholics  is,  that 
they  worship  the  veriest  unworthy  trifle  ever  made  by  men's 
hands,  and  set  up  as  God,  a  thing  which  is  childish  idolatry; 
namely,  the  Mass;  the  silly  and  profane  invention  of  a  corrupl 
Church, — which  has  no  meaning,  a  bloodless  'sacrifice  being 
useless,  since  blood  alone  can  wash  away  sin." 

"  My  dear  Sir,"  said  the  General,  when  the  Doctor  had 
paused,  "  there  seems  to  be  asirange  jumble  in  your  accusation : 
in  the  first  place,  the  sacrifice  of  the  Mass  follows  from  a  right 
notion  of  the  real  presence ;  in  the  second  place,  it  is  not  a 
bloarllcsx  sacrifice,  but  an  unbloody  sacrifice.  In  the  sacrifice 
of  the  Mass,  there  is  the  real  blood  of  Christ,  which  is  surely 
enough  to  wash  away  the  sins  of  the  whole  world,  shed  in  a 
mystical  and  unbloody  manner,  not  in  the  bloody  manner  in 
which  it  was  once  shed  upon  the  Cross." 

"  Really,  Sir,"  said  the  Doctor.  "  I  cannot  comprehend  your 
mystery,  unbloody  and  blooclezs  ;  where  is  the  dilierence  V 

"Much  the  sr.me,"  replied  the  General,  "us  that  between  the 
living  soldier  and  one  shut  through  the  heart." 

"  Humpn  !"  growled  the  Doctor ;  I  do  not  see  the  comparison  r 


755  FATHER  OSWALD. 

"Perhaps  not;  but  I  will  try  to  explain  myself.  You  re- 
member that  St.  Paul,  speaking  of  the  Eucharist,  says,  that  '  as 
oi'ten  as  you  shall  eat  this  bread,  and  drink  the  chalice,  you 
shall  show  the  death  of  the  Lord  ;'*  now,  in  the  sacrifice  of  the 
Mass,  we  do  this  in  a  most  wonderful  manner,  by  the  separate 
consecration  of  his  body  and  bliod,  under  two  distinct  species; 
for  by  virtue  of  the  words  of  consecration,  the  substance  of  the 
bread  is  changed  into  his  body,  and  the  substance  of  the  wine 
into  his  blood;  but  as  '  Christ,  now  dies  no  more,'  the  body  and 
blood  are  not  really  separated ;  for  where  the  body  is,  there 
'  also  is  the  blood,  not  by  the  change  of  bread  into  the  blood,  but 
by  concomitancy  :  so  the  bread  is  not  changed  into  the  soul  and 
divinity  of  Christ,  but  wherever  his  body  is,  it  is  necessarily 
accompanied  by  his  blood,  soul,  and  divinity.  So,  when  the 
wine  is  changed  into  his  blood,  his  body,  soul,  and  divinily  are 
also  present;  now,  by  this  mystical  separation  of  the  body  anu 
Wood,  the  death  of  the  Lord,  which  consisted  in  the  real  separa- 
tion of  the  two,  is  represented  to  us  in  a  most  lively  and  almost 
visible  manner.  The  essence  of  the  Christian  sacrifice  consists 
in  thjs  mystical  separation." 

The  Doctor  looked  puzzled.  You  presuppose,  Sir,  that  I  be- 
Uev.  in  what  you  call  the  real  presence ;  now.  I  do  not  believe 
in  any  such  thing ;  nay,  in  the  very  text  which  you  have  quoted, 
does  riot  the  Apostle  Paul  say,  that  we  eat  the  bread  and  drink 
the  cup?" 

"  INo  doubt  he  does,"  replied  the  General ;  "but  if  you  read 
the  next  verse,  you  may  make  a  shrewd  guess  at  his  meaning  : 
1  whosoever  shall  eat  this  bread  or  drink  the  chalice  of  the  Lord 
unworthily,  shall  be  guilty  of  the  body  and  blood  of  the  Lord.' 
Now,  you  must  tell  me,  how  eating  bread  and  drinking  wine  in 
any  unworthy  manner,  can  make  a  man  guilty  of  sacrilege  so 
heinous  V 

•'  Why,  to  be  sure,"  said  the  Doctor;  "it  is  the  profanation 
of  a  most  holy  rite  and  ordinance." 

"Suppose,"  said  the  General,  "a  man  were  to  profane  the 
Word  of  God,  baptism,  or  any  other  divine  ordinance,  would  he 
thereby  become  guilty  of  the  body  and  blood  of  the  Lord  V 

"Pooh!"  said  the  Doctor;  "that  is  nothing  to  the  purpose 
I  asserted  that  /did  not  believe  in  the  real  presence,  and,  what 
is  more,  1  believe  the  Church  of  Rome,  when  obliged  to  explain 
herself,  believes  no  more  in  a  real  and  literal  presence  thau 
Protestants  do." 

"  Oh,  Doctor!  what  an  assertion,"  said  Mrs.  Sefton  w/.th  evi- 
dent surprise. 

*   1  Cor.  xi.20. 


FATHER  OSWALD.  73 

At  this  momem'  Mrs.  Ashton  entered  the  room,  and  told  her 
mistress  that  Father  Oswald  had  just  called.  "  Let  him  come 
iu,  Ashton,"  replied  Mrs.  Sei'ton ;  "it  always  does  me  good," 
added  she.  •'•  to  see  that  truly  apostolic  man.1' 

"  I  think  I  had  better  retire,"  said  the  Doctor  hastily,  looking 
rather  confused  ;  "  perhaps  I  intrude.1' 

"No,  Sir,  by  no  means,"  answered  Emma  earnestly;  "you 
<io  not  intrude,  I  assure  you." 

Father  Oswald  entered,  and  explained  that  he  had  a  sick  call 
at  some  distance,  and  it  being  late,  and  a  very  stormy  night,  he 
had  ventured  to  call  and  ask  hospitality  at  the  Flail.  Hospi- 
tality was  warmly  and  joyfully  offered,  and  the  good  missioner 
was  soon  seated  by  the  blazing  fire.  Alter  the  preliminary 
compliments  had  passed,  the  General  bluntly  told  him  their 
evening's  occupation,  and  that  Doctor  Davison  had  just  ex- 
tremely surprised  them,  by  asserting  that  Catholics  do  not  be- 
lieve in  the  real  presence. 

"  Indeed!"  said  Father  Oswald,  with  something  of  an  arch 
smile;  "  there  is  novelty  in  that  assertion;  perhaps  the  Doctor 
would  be  kind  enough  to  tell  us  what  he  believes,  or  rather  what 
he  disbelieves  on  this  subject." 

"  I  believe,"  said  the  Doctor  solemn!}',  "  with  all  Protestants 
the  spiritual  presence  of  Christ  in  the  Eucharist.  Now,  the 
Romish  Church  turns  an  object  of  sense  into  an  object  of  faith, 
When  Christ  distributed  the  broken  symbol,  his  body  had  not 
then  been  broken  ;  he  could,  therefore,  only  have  spoken  in  a 
figurative  sense,  as  he  elsewhere  designates,  '  the  Lamb  slain 
from  the  foundations  of  the  world.'  " 

"  A  spiritual  presence  is  a  real  absence,  my  dear  Sir,"  an 
swered  Father  Oswald,  "  and  you  wrong  Catholics  by  asserting 
that  their  belief  is  any  thing  like  what  you  have  just  expressed." 

"  What,  then,  is  your  belief,  Sir  V 

"  Catholics  hold,"  answered  Father  Oswald,  with  much  seri- 
ousness in  his  manner,  "that  Jesus  Christ  is  really,  truly,  and 
substantially  present  under  the  exterior  appearance  of  bread  and 
wine  ;  and  no  dogma  of  the  Christian  religion  is  so  clearly  and 
distinctly  revealed  in  the  New  Testament  as  this.  This  is  the 
object  of  our  faith,  and  a  sublime  mystery  of  faith  it  is.  What 
vou  mean  by  changing  an  object  of  sense  into  an  object  of  tailli, 
I  know  not.  When  the  disciples  saw  Jesus  on  the  earth,  they 
certainly  had  an  object  of  sense  before  their  eyes;  but  they 
believed  that  what  they  saw  was  the  eternal  Son  of  God  made- 
man  ;  this  was  the  object  of  their  faith.  Can  you  tell  me  what 
you  mean  by  a  broken  symbol '!" 

"Why,"  said  the  Doctor,  "  a  symbol,  I  understand  to  be,  a 
representation  of  one  thing  by  another." 


74  FATI1EK  OSWAI-D. 

"But,"  observed  the  General,  I: it  is  not  a  Scriptural  phrase, 
nor  is  there  the  slightest  indication  of  a  symbol  or  figure  in  ihe 
Scripture  when  speaking  of  the  Eucharist,  and  therefore  we 
may  give  it  to  the  winds." 

"Certainly,"  continued  Father  Oswald,  "Christ  broke  the 
bread  ;  before  consecration,  it  was  not  yet  changed  into  his  body. 
In  the  English  Protestant  version  of  St.  Paul's  account,  we  read 
'  This  is  my  body,  which  is  broken  for  you,'  and  so  it  stands  in 
some  Greek  editions.  This  reading  is  preferred  by  the  Protes- 
tant translators,  because  they  imagine  they  can  build  an  argu- 
ment upon  it  against,  the  Catholic  doctrine  of  the  real  presence. 
Thus  they  say,  when  Christ  spoke  the  words,  his  body  was  not 
yet  broken ;  therefore,  that  which  He  gave  them  to  eat,  was  not 
his  real  body." 

"  To  be  sure,  Sir, — to  be  sure  !"  exclaimed  the  Doctor  trium- 
phantly; "there  you  have  got  yourself  into  a  dilemma,  from 
which  you  can  not  so  easily  extricate  yourself." 

"I  don't  know  that,  Doctor,"  said  Father  Oswald,  smiling 
good-humouredl}'.  "  In  the  first  place,  I  answer,  that  this  con- 
clusion is  in  (iirect  contradiction  to  the  express  assertion  of 
Christ,  who  says,  '  This  is  my  body.'  and  therefore  I  cannot 
admit  it.  In  the  next  place,  although  many  editions  have  '•  brokr.nl 
others  have  ' bruised,'  and  the  most  recent  and  correct  editions 
have  'given?  as  it  stands  in  St.  Luke  :  so  that  we  must  look  for 
some  authority  superior  to  that  of  editors,  in  order  to  ascertain 
the  true  reading.  Again,  admitting  the  word  broken,  I  ask,  what 
does  it  signify  !  Christ's  body  was  not  properly  broken  ;  and 
surely  the  bread  was  neither  broken  nor  bruised,  nor  given  for  ?<s. 
The  Lamb  was  slain  from  the  beginning  of  the  world,  not  in 
reality,  but  in  the  foreknowledge  of  God  ;  and  in  view  of  the 
future  sacrifice  of  the  Larnb,  God  conferred  all  his  graces  on 
the  saints  of  the  old  la\v." 

"  Very  true,  Sir,"  said  Harriet;  "  \«Jiat  does  it  signify,  as  you 
observe,  whether  the  word  be  broken,  cr  not  1  there  is,  I  am  siire, 
much  ado  about  nothing.  I,  for  my  part,  think  good  duecn 
Bess's  opinion  was  the  safest  and  easiest : — 

'  Christ  took  the  lircntl  and  hrako  it  ; 
And  what,  his  Word  did  make  it,  • 

That  I  believe,  and  take  it.'  " 

"Scund  Christian  doctrine,"  said  the  Doctor;  "and  if  ai' 
men  would  quietly  adopt  it,  there  would  be  an  end  of  all  disputes, 
and  we  might  live  in.  peace  and  brotherly  love." 

"Sound  Christian  doctrine,"  echoed  the  General,  "if  w* 
could  only  understand  it.  But  how  can  I  believe,  whilst  I  know 
lot,  '  what  his  Word  did  mai^e  it  V  " 


F4THF.R  OSW/tLD.  75 

1 1  see  no  need  of  bothering  our  heads  about  it,"  replied 
Harriet.  "  It  is  enough  to  think  it  must  be  what  Christ  intend- 
ed it  should  be ;  and  be  intended  no  doubt,  to  leave  us  in  this 
holy  ordinance  a  symbol  ot'  his  body  and  blood." 

••  Very  right,"  echo3d  the  General,  "  it  must  be  what  Chris? 
intended  it  to  be,  and  he  intended  to  leave  us  his  real  body  and 
blood,  it'  there  be  any  meaning  in  his  divine  words." 

"  Oh  !:>  said  Harriet,  "  I  do  not  think  the  Scripture  is  so  clear, 
or  men  would  not  differ  so  much  about  its  meaning." 

"Your  S'linf'  Luther  did  not  think,  it  seems,  however,  as  you 
t!o,"  said  Emma,  laughing.  "He  tried  all  in  his  power  to  rid 
himself  of  his  faith  in  the  real  presence,  as  he  himself  tells  us, 
but  could  not;  and  then  says,  as  well  as  I  can  remember,  'the 
text  of  the  Gospel  is  so  clear,  as  not  to  be  susceptible  of  miscon- 
struction.' " 

'•  You  remember  the  sentence  quite  rightly,  my  dear,  and 
nave  quoted  it  correctly/'  said  the  General ;  "  you  may  also  tell 
Mi.-s  .Sefton,  and  the  Doctor  too,  that  Archbisnop  Cranmer  owns, 
1  that  Christ  may  be  in  the  bread  and  wine,  as  also  in  the  doors 
that  were  shut.'  John  Fox  says,  '  Christ  abiding  in  heaven  is 
no  let  but  he  may  be  in  the  sacrament  also;'  and  then,  again, 
Melancthon :  '  I  had  rather,'  says  he,  '  die  than  affirm  thai 
Christ's  body  can  be  but  in  one  place.'  " 

li  Well.  Sir.  and  suppose  the  difference  of  opinion  which  you 
state  to  exist  between  the  doctrines  of  some  of  the  first  reformers 
and  those  of  the  present  day,  does  actually  exist,  it  is  quite  con- 
sistent; considering  we  have  the  Bible,  which  strikes  one  person 
in  one  way,  and  another  in  another." 

"But,"  said  Emma,  "truth  can  be  but  one:  God,  who  i» 
'.ruth,  cannot  reveal  contradictory  doctrines  on  the  same  point, 
txnd  this  a  point,  too,  on  which  our  eternal  salvation  depends.  Is 
it  not  written,  'He  that  eateth  and  drinketh  unworthily,  eateth 
,md  drinketh  damnation  to  himself,  not  discerning  the  body  of 
the  Lord  V  namely,  in  the  true  sense  which  he  intended,  under 
(he  dreadful  penalty  of  eternal  damnation.  There  must  be  no 
tricing  on  this  important  point." 

"God  forbid,"  said  the  Doctor  seriously,  "  we  should  ever 
trifle  en  this,  or  any  other  Scriptural  doctrine." 

'•  Well,  then,"  subjoined  Father  Oswald,  with  a  good-natured 
smile,  '•  if  you  are  so  disposed,  I  do  not  care  if  once  in  ray  life 
I  join  '  a  tea  and  Bible'  party." 

Harriet  took  the  hint,  and  in  a  few  minutes  the  hissing  urn 
was  on  the  table,  and  the  grateful  odour  of  the  refreshing  bev- 
erage soon  filled  the  room.  While  sipping  the  tea,  Father  Os- 
wald proposed  to  discuss  the  sixth  chapter  of  St.  John.  Dr. 


76  FATHER  OSWALD. 

Davison  did  not  relish  the  proposition  so  much  as  he  did  his  cap 
of  tea;  and,  somehow  or  other,  even  that  seemed  to  have  lost 
much  of  its  wonted  flavour.  He  felt  himself  in  an  awkwaid 
predicament,  and  sought  to  avoid  the  contest,  if  he  could  do  it 
with  honour  to  himself.  Asking  Harriet  lor  a  second  cup.  lie 
turned  to  Father  Oswald,  and  said — 

"  I  think,  Sir,  this  subjec*  too  serious  and  too  abstruse  tc  be 
discussed  before  this  company." 

"  I  am  no  friend,"  said  Father  Oswald,  "  to  such  Biblical  dis- 
cassions  as  I  am  told  are  often  exhibited  over  the  tea-table.  I 
have  a  different  way  of  teaching  religious  truths." 

"  Well,  then,"  said  the  Doctor,  "  suppose  we  drop  the  sub- 
ject '-'' 

"  With  all  my  heart,"  replied  the  Father. 

"No.  no,  Doctor,"  exclaimed  the  Genera),  who  had  overheard 
the  conversation  ;  "  you  have  chosen  the  subject  and  the  ground ; 
I  cannot  allow  you  to  sculk  from  your  post,  and  suspiciously 
seek  safety  in  flight  at  the  first  appearance  of  danger.  Come, 
on  the  faith  of  an  old  soldier,  you  shall  have  fair  play." 

The  Doctor  saw  that  the.  retreat  was  now  impossible,  and. 
mustering  courage  from  the  readiness  which  Father  Oswald  haci 
shown  to  retire  from  the  contest,  he  opened  a  large  Bible,  which 
he  had  deposited  on  the  table  when  he  entered  the  room,  and 
began  with  all  solemnity  to  read  the  sixth  chapter  of  St.  John. 
The  first  part  of  the  chapter  afforded  little  subject  of  discussion, 
though  frequently  interrupted  by  their  reciprocal  observations. 
Father  Oswald  observed,  that  the  miracle  of  the  five  barley 
loaves  was  in  many  points,  an  admirable  illustration  of  the  Holy 
Eucharist ;  the  Doctor  could  see  no  connection  between  the  two. 
Father  Oswald  observed,  that  Christ's  walking  on  the  waters 
was  a  clear  demonstration,  that  His  body  when  He  pleased 
could  ue  exempted  from  the  universal  laws  of  nature.  But  the 
contest  became  more  animated  at  the  twenty-seventh  verse, 
when  Father  Oswald  observed,  that  Christ  promised  to  give 
food  superior  to  the  barley  loaves — meat  which  endureth  unio 
life  everlasting.  He  propounds  the  means  to  obtain  it,  faith  in 
liis  divinity,  which  the  Jews  had  not.  He  promises  to  give 
bread  from  Heaven,  superior  to  the  manna.  He  declares  thai 
he  himself  is  the  bread  of  life — the  living  bread  which  giveth 
life  to  the  world.  The  Doctor  fought  a  good  fight,  stoutly  main- 
taining that  nothing  more  was  meant  than  faith  in  Christ,  and 
soouted  the  distinction  which  the  Fathe  made  between  the  pro- 
mised bread  and  the  condition  required  in  those  who  were  to 
receive  it.  But  the  heat  of  war  began  at  the  fifty-second  verse 
Father  Oswald  nhse.rvwl.  that  hitherto  Christ  had  used  the  word 


FATHER  OSWALD  /  « 

bread  in  a  figurative  sense,  as  the  Doctor  admitted,  but  that  now 
he  explains  me  hgure,  "The  bread  which  I  will  give  ismy 
flesh."  The  Doctor  twisted  the  expression  into  a  hundred  shapes, 
to  make  it  signify,  The  bread  which  I  will  give  is  a  si/mbol  of 
my  flesh.  "  Nothing  is  easier,'1  replied  the  Father  dryly.  "  than 
to  make  the  Scripture  say  any  thing,  by  introducing  one  or  two 
extraneous  words." 

"  Fight  fair,"  exclaimed  the  Genera'.  "  Let  us  have  Scrip- 
lure,  without  note  or  comment." 

The  Doctor,  finding  himself  sore'.y  pressed,  changed  his  sen- 
liment,  and  thought  the  meaning  might  be,  The  bread  which  I 
will  give  isfai/h  in  rnv  flesh ;  that  is,  in  rny  incarnation. 

"  Bravo !"  said  the  General ;  "  then  i>  was  i'aith  in  the  incar- 
nation, and  not  his  real  flesh,  which  he  gave  for  the  life  of  the 
world;  and  this  faith  we  must  adt  with  our  mouths,  just  as  the 
Israelites  eat  ihe  manna." 

"  Read  on,  good  Sir,"  said  Father  Oswald  gently ;  "  we 
shall  then  see  how  the  Jews  to  whom  Jesus  spoke,  understood 
him." 

The  Doctor  read,  "  How  can  this  man  give  us  his  flesh  to 
eat  V' 

"  Ha !"  exclaimed  Harriet,  "  how  often  have  I  heard  the  same 
question  asked !" 

"  Yes,  yes,"  said  the  General ;  "  there  were  good  Protestants, 
you  see,  even  amongst  the  Jews." 

Harriet  laughed,  nor  could  Mrs  Sefton  suppress  a  smile :  the 
Doctor  was  piqued,  and  observed 

"  It  cannot  be  denied,  that  the  Jews  understood  Christ's  words 
in  their  literal  sense ;  but  what  wonder  1  they  were  a  wilful, 
carnal,  sottish  race." 

"  No  doubt,"  subjoined  Father  Oswald:  "but  our  merciful 
Redeemer  will  correct  their  error ;  if  not  for  their  sake,  for  the 
sake,  of  millions  of  faithful  believers,  who  he  foresaw,  would 
take  his  words  in  their  plain,  obvious,  literal  sense.  Pray  read 
on." 

"Amen,  amen,  I  say  unto  you,  Except  you  eat  Ihcfljshot 
Iht  Son  of  Man  and  drink  his  blood,  you  shall  not  have  life  in 
you." 

"  Now,  mark,"  said  Father  Oswald,  "the  solemn  asserva- 
tions  '  amen,  amen,'  with  which  our  Saviour  expresses  the  impor- 
tance and  truth  of  what  he  is  about  to  say.  So  far  from  modi- 
fying his  former  words,  he  reasserts  them  in  the  strongest  terms. 
To  the  eating  of  his  flesh,  he  now  adds  the  drinking  of  his 
blood,  which,  far  from  diminishing  the  objection  ot  the  Jews, 
must  have  shocked  them  still  more,  from  their  being  prohibited 


;8  FATHER  OSWALD. 

by  their  law  even  to  taste  the  blood  of  animals,  muc!i  morn 
human  blood." 

The  Doctor  remained  silent  for  some  time,  as  if  recollecting 
and  arranging  in  his  mind  the  various  and  discordant  comments 
•vhich  he  had  read  on  this  celebrated  passage;  his  ideas  rose 
in  such  a  medley  an  ay,  that  his  confusion  remained  only  wors« 
confounded:  at  length  he  spoke,  with  much  hesitation  and 
frequent  interruption,  and  occasional  contradiction,  as  one  or 
other  system  of  figurative  interpretation  occurred  in  his  mind. 
"To  eat  and  to  chink  signified  simply  to  believe,  and  he  won- 
dered much  that  the  Jews  could  not  so  understand  the  words 
after  the  preceding  part  of  Christ:sdiscourse.  Again,  reflecting 
that  Christ  afterwards  said,  '  My  flesii  is  meat  indeed,  and  my 
blood  is  drink  indeed/  he  thought  that  to  eat  and  drin'.;  might 
be  taken  in  the  literal  sense,  and  that  flesh  and  blood  must  be 
taken  in  a  figurative  sense,  and  could  signify  nothing  more  that 
bread  and  wine,  the  symbols  of  his  flesh  and  blood." 

"Perhaps,  Doctor/'  said  Father  Oswald,  "you  would  do 
better  to  read  the  lour  following  verses,  end  consider  them  all 
together;  for  then  we  shall  see,  that,  five  several  times.  JCSUM 
confirmed  the  literal  meaning  of  that  sentence  which  gave  sc 
much  offence  to  the  disbelieving  Jews;  and  each  assertion  i* 
more  expressive  and  significant  than  ihc  preceding." 

The  Doctor  began  to  hem,  and  his  confusion  and  irritation 
increased  so  much,  that  he  in  vain  attempted  to  proceed. 

"  Come,"  said  the  General.  "  I  promised  you  fair  play,  and  / 
must  relieve  you.  I  will  do  justice  to  your  cause." 

The  General  then,  assuming  a  most  serious  and  sanctimo- 
nious, but  dogmatic  tone,  began  to  read  thus:  "Verily,  verily, 
I  say  unto  you,  you  quite  mistake  my  meaning:  I  would  only 
say,  Except  you  eat  br/.ad,  no',  my  flesh,  find  drink  v-i/i.>',not,  my 
blood,  you  shall  not  have  life  in  you.  He  that  eateth  hn '</.••:,  mil 
my  flesh,  and  drinketh  wine,  not,  my  blood,  hath  everlasting  life. 
and  1  will  raise  him  up  on  the  last  day.  For  bread,  ?/»/  my 
fle^h,  is  meat  indeed,  and  wine,  'not  my  blood,  is  drink  indeed  ' 

The  Doctor  could  contain  himself  no  longer,  and  launched 
out  on  the  impious  profanation  of  God's  Holy  Word. 

"Truly,"  said  Father  Oswald,  "  the  saciilegious  impiety  is 
too  obvious;  but  I  conceive  the  General,  in  his  humour,  has 
only  given  your  own  interpretation." 

"  Precisely  so,"  replied  the  General ;  "for  half  a  dozen  nafs 
and  a  i'ew  words  interpolated  have  made  the  Protestant  sense 
evident  to  the  dullest  capacity." 

The  Doctor  dialed  with  ire,  and  his  eyes  sparkled  with  in- 
dignation, "  It  is  really  too  bad,"  said  he ;  "  the  '  ery  words  ol 
Scripture  itself  profaned." 


FATHER  OSWALD.  7U 

"  A  truce,  good  Doctor,"  said  the  General ;  "  promise  me 
never  more  to  speak  of  brea.'/.  or  wine,  or  symbol,  or  figure,  or 
faith,  of  which  there  is  not  one  word  in  the  passage,  and  1  will 
promise  to  unsay  all  that  has  given  you  offence." 

"  A  trucp,  a  truce,"  muttered  the  Doctor,  trying  to  suppress 
his  impatience.  "  Still,  I  think  I  am  authorized  to  put  a  spirit- 
ual meaning  on  the  text." 

"  Put  \yha;  spiritual  meaning  you  please  on  the  text,  and  then 
you  will  authorize  me  to  introduce  my  negatives,  to  contradict 
die  literal  sen.se." 

"  But,"  said  the  Doctor,  addressing  Father  Oswald,  "  does 
not  Christ  himself  sanction  a  spiritual  meaning  when  he  says, 
*  It  is  the  spirit  which  quickeneth  ;  the  flesh  profiteth  nothing; 
the  words  that  I  speak  unto  you,  ttey  are  spirit  and  they  are 
life1  T' 

"  I  remark,"  said  Father  Oswald,  "the  emphasis  which  you 
Say  on  the  two  pronouns  they ;  you  are  aware.  I  presume,  that 
they  are  superfluous,  and  not  found  in  the  original  Greek  7" 

"  Yes,  yes,"  said  the  General,  "  they  are  loisted  in,  to  the 
detriment  of  the  Queen's  English,  and  for  cheating  and  puzzling 
the  intellects  of  her  liege  subjects."  « 

"  Humph  !"  said  the  Doctor,  "  that  is  no  answer  to  my  argu- 
ment." 

"  Now,"  said  Father  Oswald,  "  allow  me  to  propose  a  ques- 
tion. Is  Jesus  Christ  speaking  of  his  own  flesh,  or  ot  flesh  in 
general  7" 

The  Doctor  was  not  prepared  for  such  a  question ;  after 
some  hesitation  he  replied,  "  Of  his  own  flesh:"  tor  he  saw,  if 
he  answered  of  flesh  in  general,  then  there  was  an  end  of  his 
argument,  and  because  Jesus  Ciiiist  had  said  all  along,  mijjlcf.li, 
my  blon  I. 

""  Be  it  so,"  said  the  Father ;  "  then  the  quickening  spirit  will 
be  his  soul.  The  sense  is  now  clear ;  dead  flesh  separated  from 
the  quickening  spirit,  divided,  mangled,  and  consumed  in  the 
gross  manner  which  you  have  imagined,  would  indeed  profit 
you  nothing ;  not  so  my  living  flesh,  quickened  by  my  soul,  and 
united  to  the  divinity.  The  words  that  I  have  spoken  to  you 
imply  '  spirit  and  lii'e.'  I  have  spoken  to  you  of  the  living  and 
life-giving  brent ,  I  have  said,  '  That  he  who  eateth  me,  shall 
live  "by  me  as  I  live  by  the  Father.'  " 

"  Plausible  enough,"  grumbled  the  Doctor,  fanning  himself 
with  his  pocket-handkerchief,  to  relieve  the  heat  he  had  worked 
himself  into — "very  plausible  to  the  weak  and  unlearned  ;  but 
believe  me,  ladies,  there  is  much  Jesuitical  sophistry  in  all  this. 
To-morrow — another  day — gracious  me,  how  hot  it  is  !  I  am 


80  FATHER  OSWALD. 

sure,  Mrs.  Sefton,  you  must  find  this  room  too  close  and  op 
press!  ve ;  don't  you  find  it  very  hot,  Miss  Harriet  V 

"  Not  particularly  so,"  said  Harriet,  suppressing  a  titter, 
"  particularly  on  this  cold  December  night." 

"  Allow  me,"  continued  Father  Oswald,  "  to  make  one  more 
observation,  and  I  have  done.  Those  disciples  who  had  found 
the  words  of  Jesus  a  hard  saying,  saw  nothing  in  this  supposed 
explanation  to  soften  the  doctrine,  and  therefore  abandoned  their 
master  and  '  walked  no  more  with  him.'  " 

"  Mark  that,  Doctor,"  said  the  General ;  "  sound  Protestants 
even  amongst  the  disciples  of  Jesus  !  faith,  I  shall  begin  to  think 
there  is  more  Scripture  for  Protestantism  than  I  had  imagined." 

"  Humph — hern — stuff— sophistry/'  said  the  Doctor  in  con- 
siderable agitation. 

Harriet  could  resist  no  longer,  and  laughed  most  heartily ;  as 
soon  as  she  had  a  little  regained  her  composure,  she  said,  "  f 
told  you,  Doctor,  that  the  two  magpies  foretold  us  mirth." 

"  A  plague  on  the  magpies,  and  the  mirth  too,"  muttered  the 
Doctor ;  "  how  can  you  talk  such  nonsense,  Miss  Harriet  V 

Harriet  laughed  again,  more  pleased  at  the  confusion  of  the 
Doctor,  than  at  her  own  skill  in  augury. 

"  Nevertheless,"  said  the  Doctor,  rallying,  and  speaking  in 
rather  a  high  and  angry  lone,  '•  I  do  maintain,  that  the  doctrine 
which  Catholics  hold — the  bodily  presence — is  an  extension  ot 
the  Incarnation,  and  that  their  belief  of  actually  receiving  God 
into  their  mouths  is  an  absurd  and  profane  doctrine." 

"  Prove  the  absurdity,  and  we  will  try  to  give  you  an  answer," 
said  the  General;  "but  will  you  tell  me,  Doctor,  if  you  object 
to  believe  that  the  incarnation  of  Jesus  Christ  was  wrought  by 
supernatural  means'?  namely,  that  He  was  the  Son  of  God,  and 
not  of  St.  Joseph  1" 

"  Of  course,  General,  I  believe  His  incarnation  to  have  been 
the  work  of  the  Holy  Ghost,  and  that  the  order  of  nature  was 
not  followed  in  it ;  how  can  you  doubt  it  1" 

"  Then,"  replied  the  General,  "  if  you  believe  that  in  the 
mystery  of  the  incarnation  and  birth  of  our  Saviour,  the  Almighty 
could  and  did  suspend  the  ordinary  course  of  nature,  why  do 
you  object  to  believe  that  He  may,  if  He  pleases,  do  the  same 
thing  with  regard  to  the  mystery  of  the  Blessed  Eucharist'! 
If  you  acknowledge  the  mystery  in  one  case,  I  cannot  conceive 
what  can  be  your  objection  to  acknowledge  the  mystery  in  the 
other." 

"Because,"  said  Dr.  Davison,  after  a  pause,  "I  think  that 
olasphemous  and  profane  consequences  follow  the  doctrine  of  the 
real  presence :  namely,  that  the  bodv  of  our  Saviour  is  iu  a 


FATHER  OSWALD.  HI 

state  of  constant  corruption,  in  consequence  of  our  deaths,  alter 
naving  partaken  of  it." 

"The  Catholic  Church  teaches  no  such  blasphemy,  Sir,"  said 
Father  Oswald  warmly ;  "you  speak  of  the  glorified  and  im  mor- 
tal b<xly  of  the  Lord  Jesus  Christ  as  if  it  were  subject  lo  the 
same  laws  as  our  frail,  miserable,  corruptible  frames;  you  should 
know,  that,  amongst  other  privileges  of  a  glorified  body,  one  is 
impassibility." 

"  I  know  that,  Sir,  as  well  as  you  do,"  said  the  Doctor;  "  but 
when  our  Lord  says,  '  it  is  the  spirit  that  quickeneth,'  he  means, 
that  what  he  taught  both  of  the  Incarnation  and  Eucliaiist,  he 
caught  and  meant  in  a  figurative  and  spiritual  sense." 

"  What!  was  Christ  incarnate  only  in  a  spiritual  sense,  and 
tot  in  reality  1"  said  Mrs.  Sefton,  in  evident  amazement ;  "  I 
<hought  you  told  us,  only  a  minute  ago,  that  you  believed  in  the 
Incarnation  ;  now,  if  Christ's  body  was  spiritwil,  and  not  real, 
when  it  was  horn,  I  should  think  one  could  not  call  it  an  incar- 
nation at  all." 

"  Pooh  !  pooh!  my  dear  Madam,  what  can  you  ladies  know 
about  such  high  matters  as  these '!"  said  the  Doctor ;  "  you  should 
jubmit  to  he  taught." 

"  You  say  very  rightly,  Doctor  Davison,  said  Emma  with 
spirit ;  "  wh:,t  oan  we  poor  laical  sinners  know  about  the  mys- 
teries of  God !  and  for  that  very  reason  I  have  submitted  my 
judgment  in  all  matters  of  faith  to  that  Church  which  has  re- 
ceived authority  to  teach ;  but,  nevertheless,  the  Catholic  Church 
lakes  good  care  to  instruct  her  children  on  all  points  that  are 
necessary  to  salvation,  as  far  as  the  subjecl  can  be  explained; 
therefore,  I  do  understand  what  it  is  necessary  I  should  under- 
stand on  the  mysteries  of  the  Incarnation  and  blessed  Eucharist. 
St.  Peter,  you  know,  says,  we  ought  to  be  '  able  to  give  a  reason 
for  the  hope  that  is  in  us." 

"  There's  a  rap  over  the  knuckles  for  you,  my  worthy  Doc- 
tor," said  the  General,  stirring  the  fire. 

The  Doctor  looked  very  angrv. 

"God  forbid,  my  dear  Sir,  that  we  should  say  the  flesh  of 
Christ  profits  nothing,"  said  Father  Oswald  earnestly;  "that 
w.Mi'.d,  indeed,  be  a  blasphemy." 

'•  Well,"  said  Harriet,  "  I  had  no  idea  till  this  evening,  that 
Catholics  could  give  so  rational  an  account  of  the  Mass,  be- 
cause I  a.ways  thought,  and  I  was  always  taught  to  think,  that 
it  was  contrary  to  the  Scripture  and  to  reason  ;  but  if  we  be- 
lieve in  the  real  presence,  which  we  may  do  if  we  choose,  the 
apparent  absurdity  immediately  vanishes." 

"  The  Mass  is  neither  contrary  to  reason  nor  the  Scripture 


82  FATHER  OSWALD. 

my  dear  Miss  Sefton,"  said  Father  Oswald,  "  the  Holy  Sacrifice 
of  the  Mass  is  the  greatest  act  of  religion  that  can  be  performed ; 
indeed,  the  only  one  perfectly  worthy  of  God ;  therefore,  it  is 
most  reasonable  we  should  offer  it  to  him:  it  is  not  contrary  to 
Scripture,  but  expressly  enjoined  therein  by  Christ  himself,  'Do 
this  in  commemoration  of  me.'  " 

"  There  I  have  you,"  said  the  Doctor  hastily,  "  there  I  will 
nail  you  to  your  own  admission  We  here  see  in  the  'vords  of 
the  institution,  that  Christ  establishes  a  perpetual  mci.i./rial  oi 
Himself,  "  Do  this  in  rumcmbrunce  of  me.'  " 

"  Let  us  not  jump  too  rapidly  to  conclusions,'  said  thr,  Fa'her 
gently :  "  let  us  first  settle  the  previous  question :  Chnst  says, 
•Do  this."  What  are  we  to  do?  that  is  the  question.1' 

"We  must  do  what  Christ  did,"  replied  the  Doctor;  "we 
must  take  bread  and  wine,  and  bless,  and  break,  and  eat  and 
drink  in  remembrance  of  Him  ;  nothing  can  he  clearer." 

'•  No  doubt  we  must  do  what  Christ  did,"  continued  Father 
Oswald,  "  but  the  question  again  recurs,  what,  did  Christ  do1? 
Did  he  give  to  his  disciples  bread  and  wine  simply,  or  did  he 
give  them,  as  his  words  import,  His  body  and  His  blood? 
When  this  previous  question  is  settled,  we  shall  readily  agr^e 
why  we  are  to  do  it." 

"  That  is  a  sophistical  distinction,"  said  the  Doctor. 

"  No  sophistry  at  all,"  interposed  the  General,  "  but  a  plain 
straightforward  question ;  too  difficult,  I  perceive,  for  a  straight- 
forward answer.  But  as  you  asserted  in  the  beginning  of 
our  conversation,  that  the  Mass  is  a  silly  and  profane  invention 
of  a  corrupt  Church,  I  have  a  right  to  demand  an  answer  to 
another  question.  When,  where,  and  by  whom  was  this  inven- 
tion made  V 

"  In  the  dark  ages,  to  be  sure,"  said  the  Doctor  boldly,- 
"  those  ages  of  ignorance  and  superstition  ;  there  is  no  need  of 
fixing  the  precise  date,  place,  or  person  ;  it  came  in  gradually; 
it  was  unknown  in  the  early  ages." 

"A  blessing  on  the  dark  ages!"  ejaculated  the  General,  "  they 
el  ways  afford  a  safe  retreat  to  a  worsted  foe.  But  the  dark  ages 
<vill  not  profit  you  in  this  case  ;  for  we  have  the  testimony  of  the 
Fathers,  that  Mass  was  celebrated  in  the  earliest  and  brightest 
days  of  Christianity ;  and  we  still  possess  the  liturgies  which 
they  used.  Nay,  we  have  historical  evidence  that  the  Apostles 
themselves  celebrated  Mass.  I  have  seen  myself  in  Rome  thr 
altar  on  which  St.  Peter  offered  the  Holy  Sacrifice  ;  it  is  pre- 
served in  the  church  of  St.  Prudentiana.  The  words  of  St 
Andrew  the  Apostle,  when  jEgeas  the  judge  exhorted  him  to 
sacrifice  to  idols  are  very  remarkable :  '1  every  day,' says  he, 


FATHER  OSWALD.  S3 

'sacrifice  to  the  Almighty,  the  only  one  and  true  God ;  not  the 
flesh  of  oxen  or  the  blood  of  goats,  but  the  immaculate  Lamb, 
upon  the  altar,  whose  flesh  is  given  to  the  faithful  to  eat;  the 
Lamb  thus  sacrificed  remains  whole  and  alive  " 

"  Those  are  indeed  remarkable  words,"  said  Harriet  thought- 
fully. "  If  persons  once  bring  themselves  to  believe  implicitly 
what  the  Church  teaches  them,  and  nothing  more  nor  less,  they 
must  be  very  happy  ;  it  must  save  them  a  world  of  trouble." 

"  Miss  Harriet,  Miss  Harriet,  beware  how  you  express  such 
a  sentiment  as  that,"  exclaimed  Doctor  Davison,  glad  to  turn 
the  discourse  from  the  subject  in  dispute  :  "  how  can  a  rational 
being  answer  for  his  soul  at  the  last  day,  it  he  has  given  guidance 
of  it  to  a  fellow-sinner,  without  having  employed  his  mind  to 
know  the  will  of  God  in  that  revelation  which  he  has  given  to 
man  V 

"Now,  I  venture  to  answer  Miss  Sefton,"  said  Father  Os- 
wald.— "  though  it  is  foreign  to  the  point  we  had  in  hand, — that 
the  Catholic  acts  very  rationally  and  very  securely  in  giving  the 
guidance  of  his  soul  to  those  who  have  received  authority  from 
God  to  guide  him:  consequently,  he  very  much  promotes  his 
own  happiness ;  '  He  hears  the  Church ;'  he  hears  the  ministers 
of  the  Church,  as  Christ  has  commanded  him  to  hear  them,  and 
as  he  would  hear  Christ  himself,  and  on  this  score  he  is  under 
no  apprehension  of  not  being  able  to  render  a  good  account  at 
the  last  day." 

"  Yes,  yes,"  exclaimed  the  General,  rubbing  his  hands,  "  we 
must  leave  the  Biblical  to  settle  his  own  account  as  well  as  he 
may  ;  but  I  fear  if  '  he  heareth  not  the  Church,'  his  lot  will  be 
likely  to  be  with  '  the  heathen  and  the  publican.'  '  If  he  de- 
spiseth  the  ministers  of  the  Church,  he  despiseth  Christ  him- 
self; and  he  that  despiseth  Christ,  despiseth  the  Father  who 
sent  Him.'  " 

"  But  for  what  reason  has  God,  then,  given  us  understanding 
if  we  must  not  employ  it  in  knowing  the  will  of  God  on  religion, 
the  most  important  of  all  concerns  1"  expostulated  the  Doctor. 

"  The  Catholic  does  employ  his  reason  to  know  the  will  of 
God,  and  the  true  sense  of  His  revelation ;  only  he  goes  a  dif- 
ferent way  about  it,"  said  Father  Oswald ;  ""  he  takes  the 
straightforward  path,  pointed  out  to  him  by  Christ,  such  as  it 
was  foretold  by  the  prophet:  'And  a  path,  and  a  way  shall-be 
there,  and  it  shall  be  called  the  holy  way  :  the  unclean  shall  not 
pass  over  it ;  and  it  shall  be  to  you  a  straight  icay,  so  that  the 
ibol  shall  not  err  therein.'  "* 

"But  how  can  you  make  this  applicable,"  said  the  Porter 
*  Is.  ixxv.  8. 


84  FATHER  OSWALD. 

earnestly,  "to  those  who  rule  themselves  by  the  pure  Word  of 
God  expressed  in  the  Scriptures  1" 

''  Because,"  answered  Father  Oswald,  "  daily  experience  too 
clearly  proves  that  Bible  readers  have  widely  deviated  1'rotnthis 
'  straight  and  holy  way,'  each  one  running  his  own  tortuous  ca- 
reer, and  crying  out  with  all  his  might,  '  Here  is  Christ,"  and 
'There  is  Christ.'  The  Catholic  pities  their  blindness,  and 
jogs  on  his  straight  way,  nor  turns  to  the  right  nor  to  the  left. ' 

"  Well,"  said  the  Doctor  with  great  pomposity,  "  I  do  t-eri- 
ously  think  that  Catholics  will  not  be  saved,  if.  being  acquainted 
with  the  Bible,  they  still  continue  to  be  guided  by  the  Church  in 
what  is  contrary  to  the  precepts  of  the  Bible  !" 

"  Oh  !  oh  !  so  we  are  to  go  to  the  regions  below  because  we 
will  not  come  into  your  Pujestant  scheme,"  exclaimed  the  Gen- 
eral, laughing;  "it  were  not  very  difficult  to  retort  the  compli- 
ment ;  but  I  shall  be  content  to  send  you  to  Bedlam  ;  I  wish  and 
Eray  that  your  ignorance  may  plead  excuse  in  another  world  ; 
ut  I  have  a  difficulty  to  propose,  to  which  I  expect  an  answer: 
for  the  affair  of  salvation  is  too  serious  a  one  to  be  trifled  with." 

"  Then  do,  my  good  General,  keep  your  difficulty  till  to-mor- 
row," interrupted  Harriet,  "  for  I  am  sure  we  have  had  quite 
seriousness  enough  for  to-night." 

"  I  think  so  too,"  said  the  Doctor,  rising,  "  but  I  shall  be  hap- 
py to  solve  your  difficulty  to-morrow,  Sir,"  continued  he,  cast- 
ing a  side  glance  at  Father  Oswald. 

The  Father  rose  also,  and  having  given  his  blessing  to  Emma, 
they  all  retired  to  supper,  leaving  her  somewhat  exhausted  with 
the  varied  emotions  excited  during  the  evening. 


CHAPTER    XII. 

•'  As  long  as  words  a  different  sense  will  bear, 
And  each  may  be  his  own  interpreter, 
Our  airy  faith  will  no  foundation  find, 
'i'he  word  's  a  weathercock  for  every  wind." — 

IN  tne  middle  of  the  night,  when  Father  Oswald  was  in  a 
sound  sleep,  after  the  fatigues  of  a  well-spent  day,  he  was  sud- 
denly loused  by  the  drowsy  voice  of  John  the  footman,  inform- 
ing him  there  was  a  countryman  making  a  great  noise  at  the 
back  door,  who  begged  him  for  the  love  of  God  to  tell  the  priest 


FATHER  OSWALD.  tUt 

'hat  the  sick  person  he  had  visited  the  day  before,  was  worse, 
and -not  likely  to  last  many  hours. 

"  I  did  my  best,  Sir,"  added  John,  "to  keep  the  man  quiet  till 
morning,  lor  there  can  be  nothing  wanted,  I'm  sure,  since  you 
saw  the  poor  creature  but  yesterday:  such  manners  !  coining 
and  rousing  good  i'olks  out  of  their  warm  bed  such  a  night  as 
this,  when  one  would  not  send  a  dog  to  the  door ;  but  there's  no 
beating  manners  into  such  bumpkins  as  them,  and  the  morel 
argued  the  louder  he  got,  so  I  e'en  leared  he  would  be  disturbing 
the  mistress,  poor  thing." 

By  the  time  John  had  finished  this  tirade,  Father  Oswald  was 
nearly  dressed. 

"  We  must  have  patience,  John,  with  these  poor  people,  for 
they  have  souls  to  save  as  well  as  we  have,"  said  he  mildly,  as 
he  took  the  candle  from  the  shivering  lad's  hand. 

"  Souls  !  yes,  they  have  souls,  no  doubt,  but  they  may  con- 
trive to  save  them  without  worrying  their  neighbours  in  this 
guise,"  muttered  John. 

"  We  must  trust,  John,  that  God  will  reward  you  for  your 
charity  in  helping  to  get  assistance  for  this  poor  person,  when 
you  come  to  be  lying  on  your  death-bed,"  observed  Father 
Oswald. 

"  The  Lord  be  merciful  to  us,  Sir,"  said  John,  quickening 
his  pace  to  keep  up  with  the  Father,  who  was  descending  the 
stairs;  '•  don't  be  talking  about  dying  at  this  uncanny  time  of 
night;  I  was  always  timorous  ot  gaists  and  hobgoblins." 

"  A  little  holy  water  would  be  the  best  remedy  for  you  in  this 
case,  John,"  said  the  Father,  unable  to  repress  a  smile. 

"  And  would  it  indeed,  Sir  1  how  can  you  explain  that,  now  1" 

"  I  have  not  time  to  explain  it  now,"  said  Father  Oswald,  as 
they  reached  the  door  where  the  countryman  was  impatiently 
waiting  lor  them.  "  Good-night,  John,"  continued  he,  "  and 
many  thanks  for  your  trouble.  Keep  a  clear  conscience,  and 
that  is  a  remedy  against  all  fears,"  added  he,  as  the  footman 
closed  the  doors  after  him,  as  soon  as  he  saw  that  Father  Oswald 
had  recognized  the  messenger. 

The  next  morning,  when  breakfast  was  half  over,  Dr.  Davisou 
asked  Harriet  what  had  become  of  the  Jesuit,  expressing  a  hope 
he  was  by  that  time  sate  at  his  own  house. 

"  I  don't  know  indeed,  Sir,"  answered  Harriet.  "1  suppose 
he  will  arrive  ere  long :  or.  perhaps,  he  doss  not  breakfast  at  all. 
I  have  heard  that  Jesuits  make  great  fasts.  1  don't  think  he  can 
have  gone  home,  because  I  heard  Emma  say  she  wished  to 
«j>tak  to  him  alter  breaki;.st." 

'•  t  ^aa  tell  you  where  he  is."  said  the  General,  laying  down 
b* 


86  FATHER  OSWALD. 

the  newspaper;  <:  he  has  returned  to  that  sick  person  at  tne 
Mills,  where  he  was  yesterday ;  he  will,  I  hope,  be  back  for 
dinner." 

"  What  a  deal  of  useless  trouble !"  said  Harriet ;  "  I  should 
have  thought  one  visit  was  quite  enough." 

"  The  poor  creature  got  worse  during  the  night,  and  sent  for 
him,"  said  the  General. 

"  In  the  night,''  exclaimed  Harriet.  "How extraordinary! 
Why,  it  was  an  awful  night:  every  time  I  wakened,  I  iicard 
the  snow  pelting  and  the  wind  howling." 

"  However,  he  went  in  the  night,  lor  all  that,"  said  the  Gene- 
ral quietly,  "  as  was  his  precise  duty.  John  is  my  authority, 
and  I  imagine  he  did  not  dream  it.  Miss  Harriet,  may  I  beg 
another  cup  of  coffee  V 

"Well,"  said  Doctor  Davison,  helping  himself  to  another 
slice  of  ham  and  a  buttered  muffin,"!  cannot  conceive  what 
charm,  life  can  have  for  any  Catholic  priest  who  devotes  himsell 
to  his  duty." 

"  None  at  all,"  said  the  General  bluntly ;  i:  it  would  be  a  pity 
it  should :  he  might  then  neglect  his  duties." 

''•  It  seems  the  grave  is  the  only  place  where  it  is  not  sinful 
for  a  priest  to  indulge  in  rest,"  said  Harriet,  compassionately. 

"But,  Miss  Harriet,"  answered  the  General,  "  he  hr.s  his 
consolations  of  a  higher  order :  '  he  seeks  the  things  that  are 
above,  he  minds  the  things  that  are  above,  not  the  things  that 
are  upon  ihe  earth  ;  for  he  is  dead,  and  his  li!e  is  hiii  with 
Christ  in  God.'  His  treasure  is  in  Heaven,  and  there  is  his 
heart  fixed." 

The  Doctor  had  ordered  his  dog  and  gun  to  be  in  readiness 
after  breakfast,  but  it  snowed  so  fast  that  he  unwillingly  count- 
erordered  them ;  he  sauntered  into  the  billiard -room ;  but  the 
General  seemed  so  occupied  with  a  new  French  publication  he 
had  just  received,  that  he  durst  not  venture  to  propose  a  match 
at  billiards.'  He  then  tried  the  library,  but  found  it  difficult  to 
fix  his  attention.  Whatever  book  he  opened,  the  troublesome 
thought  occurred  to  his  mind,  of  what  might  be  the  nature  of 
the  difficulty  with  which  the  General  was  going  to  torment  him 
that  evening..  "  I  wish  I  was  safely  out  of  this  house,"  said  he 
to  himself;  "nothing  can  be  more  disagreeable  to  me  than  this 
sort  of  work;  to  be  sure.  I  am  comfortable  enough:  good  table, 
good  library,  and  the  societv  mighty  pleasant,  if  it  were  not  lor 
this  plaguy  controversy.  Well,  well,  I  ;\m  doing  my  duly,  and 
a  stout  one  it  is."  So  musing,  he  replaced  the  book  he  had 
in  his  hand  in  the  shelves,  and  dwaddled  into  the  sitting-room, 
where  he  was  soon  established  by  Harriet's  work-table,  reading 


FATHER  OSWALD.  87 

aloud  to  her  the  last  new  novel.  The  dinner  was  over  before 
Father  Oswald  made  his  appearance,  and  when  he  had  eat  a 
little,  and  got  himself  thawed  from  the  nearly  frozen  state  in 
which  he  had  entered,  Harriet  proceeded  to  ask  how  he  had  left 
the  sick  person. 

"  The  sick  person,  my  good  Madam,"  replied  he,  "  is  gone  to 
another  and  a  better  world." 

"  Indeed !"  said  Harriet,  "  then  that  fully  accounts  for  it.  i 
heard  the  death-watch  all  last  night  close  to  my  bed-head." 

"What  is  the  death-watch  V  said  Father  Oswald  in  some 
surprise 

"  Don't  you  know  what  the  death-watch  is1?"  retorted  Harriet. 
"  That  does  surprise  me ;  well,  it  is  a  little  tick-tacking  noise, 
vhich  occurs  at  regular  intervals,  very  slowly,  somewhere  in 
tie  room  ;  it  is  difficult  to  find  out  exactly  in  which  part  it  is; 
j.nd  whenever  one  hears  this,  it  is  a  certain  forewarning  that 
there  is  death  in  the  house  or  neighbourhood/' 

"  Upon  my  word,  Miss  Sefton,"  said  the  General,  laughing," 
I  wonder  how  a  lady  of  your  sense  can  talk  such  nonsense ! 
It  was  probably  your  own  watch,  or  your  own  pulse,  or,  at  the 
utmost,  a  certain  little  spider  which  makes  that  said  noise." 

Harriet  shook  her  head  incredulously.  "  I  know  better  than 
that."  said  she  in  a  mysterious  voice. 

"  It  is  superstition,  my  good  lad}',  to  hold  such  opinions  as 
Ihose."  said  Father  Oswald. 

"  To  be  sure  it  is,"  said  the  Doctor  triumphantly ;  "  so  I  havp 
often  told  Miss  Harriet." 

Harriet  smiled,  and  only  said,  "  Remember  the  magpies, 
Doctor." 

In  the  evening  the  little  party  assembled  as  usual  in  Emma's 
loom,  and  the  General,  was  not  long  ere  he  sounded  the  signaJ 
of  war  in  the  Doctor's  ear. 

"Well,  Doctor."  said  he,  "1  mean  to  come  to  close  quarters 
with  you  this  evening,  so  let  us  take  up  our  ground  fairly  in  the 
beginning." 

The  Doctor  groaned  internally,  but  declared  he  was  ready  to 
answer  the  General's  difficulty  to  the  best  of  his  poor  abilities.. 

"  Well,  then."  replied  the  General,  "  in  the  first  place  we  are 
agreed,  that  Christ  has  revealed  a  code  of  religious  doctrines  '.o 
be  believed  by  all  men,  under  the  pain  of  eternr.l  damnation: 
for.  when  he  sent  his  Apostles  to  preach  the  Gospel  to  every 
creature,  he  added  these  words,  'He  that  believeth  and  is 
baptized  shall  be  saved ;  but  he  that  believeth  not,  shall  be  con- 
demned.' ;:* 

*  Mark  xvi.  10 


8y  FAT1W  OSWALD. 

"Certainly;  I  agree  to  thai/' 

"Then,"  continued  the  Gen  vat,  "since 'God  our  Saviot  . 
will  have  all  men  to  be  saved,  a  nc.  come  to  the  knowledge  a" 
the  truth.'*  It  follows  that  He  has  provided  easy,  secure,  ano 
certain  means,  by  which  all  men,  the  Icaintd  and  the  unlearned. 
the  wise  and  the  ignorant,  may  know  al.'  things  which  God  hai 
revealed,  and  which  they  are  bound  to  bei-e?re." 

"  Undoubtedly." 

"  What  are  these  means!" 

"  The  Bible,  which  contains  God's  infalliMe  Word." 

"  Is  that  means  easy  1" 

"  Nothing  more  easy ;  every  man  can  read  the  Bible,  or  neai 
It  read." 

"Nothing  more  easy,"  continued  the  General;  "but  whei- 
the  unlearned  read  the  Bible,  or  hear  it  read,  is  iteavy  lor  them 
to  understand  it  ?" 

"  I  suppose  so,"  said  the  Doctor. 

"I  think  not,"  replied  the  General.  "But  is  it  a  secure 
means  to  find  out  the  truth  1" 

"  What  can  be  more  secure  than  the  infallible  Word  of  God  1" 

"But  what  security  can  a  man  have  in  his  own  opinion,  when 
he  finds  his  neighbour  of  a  different  opinion  V 

"  Humph  !"  muttered  the  Doctor.  "  If  they  read  with  sim- 
plicity and  prayer,  they  will  agree  in  all  essentials." 

"  I  doubt  that  much,"  replied  the  General ;  "  there  can  be  no 
security  when  there  is  no  certainty.  No  man  can  be  certain 
that  his  private  opinion  is  true,  unless  he  presumptuously  sup- 
poses himself  gilted  with  more  acumen,  more  light,  and  more 
knowledge  than  his  neighbour.  But  let  us  come  a  little  more 
closely  to  the  point.  You  tell  me  to  search  the  Scriptures — to 
read  the  Bible — to  judge  for  myself.  Why  then,  do  you  come 
to  dictate  to  me,  and  hurl  the  thunders  of  God's  wrath  against 
me,  if  I  come  to  a  different  conclusion  from  yours  1" 

"  Why,  my  good  General,  your  difficulty  vanishes  like  snow 
before  the  mid-day  sun,"  said  the  Doctor,  seeming  much  relieved. 
"  You  can  never  come  to  the  same  fair  and  proper  conclusions 
that  we  do,  because  you  Catholics  do  not  read  the  Bible,  and  are 
not  allowed  to  read  it,  and — " 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,  I  beg  your  pardon,  Sir,"  interrupted  the 
General ; '"  be  it  known  to  you,  that  I  have  read  the  Bible  and 
thumbed  it  through  and  through,  and  the  more  I  search  it,  the 
more  am  I  convinced  that  the  Catholic  Church  is  the  only  true 
Church  of  Christ,  '  without  spot  or  wrinkle,'  and  that  ail  her 
supposed  abuses  and  abominations  are  the  visionary  workings 
*  1  Tim.  ii.  4. 


FATHER  OSWALD. 

of  a  disturbed  b/am,  or  the  malignant  inventions  of  a  JAY  rated 
heart." 

"  Hold,  hold,"  cried  the  Doctor ;  "  there  is  much  to  be  said 
before  you  can  convince  me,  or  any  other  sound  Bible  reader, 
that  the  Catholic  is  the  true  Church,  and  that  we  do  not  find 
she  is  full  of  abominations." 

"  Well,  Sir,"  said  the  General,  "  have  a  little  patience,  at 
least.  What  you  stale  is  one  of  your  conclusions;  but  allow 
me  to  state  the  result  of  my  Biblical  observations  quietly,  and 
then  we  shall  see." 

"  By  all  means,  by  all  means,  General ;  as  quietly  as  you 
Jike,"  said  the  Doctor ;  "  I  am  a  great  friend  to  quietness  in 
discussion." 

"Well,  then,  I  was  going  to  state,"  continued  the  General. 
"that  I  am  fully  convinced — and  I  have  corne  to  the  conclusion 
after  the  most  cool  and  mature  deliberation — that  out  of  the 
pale  of  the  Catholic  Church  there  is  no  salvation  for  my  soul ; 
and  that  those  '  who  separate  themselves'  from  it  are  '  sensual 
men,  having  not  the  Spirit,'*  who  '  revolt  and  continue  not  in 
the  doctrine  of  Christ,t  and,  therefore,  they  have  not  God.' 
Now,  this  being  the  case,  and  my  own  conviction,  grounded,  as 
it  appears  to  rne,  upon  the  clearest  testimonies  of  Holy  Scrip- 
ture, am  I  to  renounce  it,  and  embrace  your  conviction,  gr^und- 
ed,  you  honestly  believe,  upon  more  solid  testimony'?  If  I  re- 
nounce my  own  conviction  of  the  truth,  I  am  damned  ;  if  I  do 
not  renounce  it,  you  are  equally  convinced  I  am  damntd.  This 
is  truly  a  sad  dilemma;  who  shall  help  us  out  of  if?  Thank 
God!  /have  a  way  out  of  it;  but  my  solicitude  is.  for  you: 
you  have  made  your  last  appeal  to  Scripture,  you  have  no  far- 
ther resource." 

"  Yes,  you  see,  General,  we  have  both  studied  Scripture,  and 
7  can  answer  lor  my  own  intentions  being  pure,  so  you  need  not 
l<e  uneasy  about  me,  my  good  friend,"  said  the  Doctor. 

"  But  if  I  am  really  your  good  friend,"  said  the  General  ear- 
nestly, "  it  is  very  natural  I  should  be  'ineasy  about  you  :  for 
we  have,  as  you  observe,  both  studied  St/ipture  with  the  purest 
intention  of  '  attaining  to  the  knowledge  of  the  truth,'  and  we 
have  arrived  at  conclusions  diametrically  contradictory  on  many 
most  important  points  of  salvation.  One  of  us  must  be  involved 
in  damnable  error.  What  is  now  to  lie  done  ?  I  wait  for  you: 
reply." 

The  Doctor  hesitnted,  and  then  replied  rather  doggedly,  "  I 
suppose  you  Catholics  would  have  recourse  to  the  old  story  ol 
Mother  Church  and  her  infallibility;  but  we  Protestants  think 
she  fell  into  error." 

*   Iiitle  19  t  2  John  i» 


90  FATHER  OSWAI.K 

"  Gently,  gently,"  cried  the  General ;  "  that  is  no  answer  to 
my  difficulty.  Let  us  have  no  more  of  this  random  skirmish-- 
in^; stick  to  the  point;  leave  m?  to  take  refuge  in  Mother 
Church,  if  you  like;  but  here  is  the  Presbyterian,  the  Methodist, 
the  Baptist,  tlie  Socinian,  one  and  all  read  the  Bible  with  the 
purest  intention,  all  earnestly  pray  for  light  to  understand  it,  ail 
seek  the  '  truth  as  it  is  in  Jesus  -,"  tell  me,  now,  candidly,  do 
they  all  find  the  truth  1" 

"  Certainly  not." 

"Then  you  must  allow,  Dr.  Davison,  that  the  Bible  alone 
affords  no  secure  means  of  finding  out  the  truth." 

'  Humph  !"  said  the  Doctor  with  a  sort  of  indescribable  groan. 
"  I  allow  that  the  authority  of  the  primitive  Church  may  help  us 
to  the  right  understanding  of  the  Bible." 

"  If  you  appeal  to  the  authority  of  the  primitive  Church,  you 
yield  the  question ;  for  whatever  authority  the  Church  had  in 
the  beginning,  she  retains  to  the  present  day." 

"Not  so,"  said  the  Doctor;  "for  we  can  show  from  the 
Bible  that  the  Roman  Church  has  erred  and  thereby  lost  her 
authority." 

"By  the  same  rule,"  replied  the  General,  "the  Dissenters 
prove  that  the  Church  of  England  has  fallen  into  damnable 
errors;  so,  you  see,  we  can  make  no  progress  with  an  authority 
liable  to  error." 

"Humph  !  Hem!  I  cannot  allow  the  authority  of  any  Church 
to  he  infallible,"  persisted  the  Doctor. 

"My  dear  Sir,"  replied  the  General  with  great  emotion, 
"  consider  seriously  if  it  be  not  a  false  and  absurd  supposition, 
that  the  Church  of  Christ,  which  St.  Paul  says  is  '  the  pillar 
and  ground  of  the  truth,'*  can  possibly  guide  her  children  into 
what  is  contrary  to  the  doctrine  of  the  Bible.  From  a  false 
supposition  the  most  monstrous  consequences  may  be  drawn ; 
as  an  example,  if  I  lay  it  down  as  a  certain  principle,  that  you 
are  mad,  it  would  be  a  logical  conclusion,  that  all  your  outpour- 
ings were  the  sheer  ravings  of  a  distracted  mind." 

"  Of  course,  any  one  understanding  any  thing  of  logic  must 
acknowledge,"  said  the  Doctor,  "  that  from  a  false  supposition 
false  consequences  must  follow  ;  but  still,  Sir,  though  you  say 
you  have  read  the  Bible,  yet  you  cannot  interpret  it  as  you  wish 
or  as  you  please,  but  mint,  according  to  your  own  acknowledg- 
ment, abide  by  the  decisions  of  the  Church." 

"Cer'ainly,"  answered  the  General;  "and  so  must  every 
Christian  who  can  understand  the  plainest  precept  in  the  Bible, 
1  He  tha?  heareth  you  heareth  me,  and  he  that  despisoth  yon 
*  1  Tirn.  iii.  15. 


FATHER  OSWALD.  91 

despiselh  me;'*  again,  '  Obey  your  prelates,  and  be  subject  to 
ttiem.'t  When  Christ  commanded  the  Apostles  and  their  suc- 
cessors to  'teach  all  nations,'  he  exacted  obedience  to  the::  doc- 
trine from  all  men  who  were  to  be  taught,  and  he  propounded  a 
sufficient  motive  for  such  obedience,  when  he  promised  to  be 
with  those  teachers  '  all  days,  even  unto  the  consummation  of 
the  world;'  so  that  you  see  our  subjection  to  the  decisions  of 
ihe  teaching  Church  is  both  rational  and  Scriptural.  Observe 
particularly,  I  pray  you,  that  Christ  has  promised  to  be  with 
the  Church  tcac/iiny,  but  has  nowhere  promised  to  be  with  each 
private  individual  reading  his  Bible.  The  Bible  is  a  divine 
book,  and  must  have  a  divine  interpreter;  but  my  being  obliged 
to  submit  to  the  decisions  of  the  Church  in  matters  oi  faith,  does 
not  in  any  degree  alter  what  seems  to  my  own  convictions  and 
common  sense  to  be  the  truth,  any  more  titan  it  alters  the  mathe- 
matically demonstrative  truth,  that  two  sides  of  a  triangle  are 
always  longer  than  a  third,  because  I  am  convinced  of  the  same 
fact  from  my  own  observation  and  from  common  sense." 

The  Doctor  hemmed,  and  after  a  little  hesitation  and  a  pause, 
continued:  ;'Tnen,  Sir,  according  to  you,  the  Catholic  says, 
the  interpretation  oi'  the  Word  of  God  must  belong  to  the  Church ; 
private  judgment  may.  and  often  do^serr  in  a  matter  so  difficult. 
Why,  then,  is  it  said  of  the  Jews  of  Berea,  to  whom  one  of  the 
Apostles  himself  preached,  'These  were  more  no!)le  than  tho*e 
of  Thessalonica,  in  that  they  received  the  Word  with  all  readi- 
ness of  mind,  and  searched  Ik?  Scriptures  daily,  whether  those 
things  were  so:  therefore  many  of  them  believed''?:  Do  not 
these  words  point  out  the  duty  of  the  teacher  and  of  the  hearer, 
and  the  result  to  be  expected  when  both  are  fulfilled  1" 

"  But,  my  dear  Sir,"  said  Father  Oswald,  "  in  order  to  under- 
stand this  passage  of  the  Acts,  we  must  not  separate  it  from  the 
preceding  context;  perhaps  you  would  be  kind  enough  to  favour 
us  with  that,  before  we  proceed  farther'!" 

"  By  all  means.  Sir,"  said  the  Doctor  eagerly.  "  Where  are 
my  spectacles  1  Where  is  the  Bible  1" 

"  The  Bible  you  left  behind  you  yesterday,  Dr.,"  said  Emma, 
"  is  on  the  table  near  the  window ;  but  where  your  spectacles 
are,  I  know  not." 

"  I  do  though,"  said  Harriet ;  "  they  are  in  my  reticule ;  yon 
left  them  on  the  work-table  in  the  sitting-room."  . 

"Well,  well,  give  them  here,"  said  Dr.  Davison,  settling 
them  on  his  nose,  and  opening  the  Bible;  when  he  had  found 
the  17th  chapter  of  the  Acts,  he  read  it  in  a  pompous  voico 
from  the  beginning,  till  he  came  to  the  text  in  question,  when 
ne  paused. 

*  Luke  x  16  t  Heb.  xiii.  17  t  Acts  xvii.  1 


92  FATHER  OSWALD. 

"  Nov.-,  Sir,'*  said  Father  Oswald,  "  please  to  observe  that 
from  this  it  appears,  that  St.  Paul  had  previously  preached  to 
the  Jews  af  Tliessalonica,  and,  appealing  to  their  own  Scrip- 
tures, proved  to  them 'that  the  Christ  was  to  suffer,  and  rise 
again  from  the  dead;  and  that  this  is  Jesus  Christ,  whom  I 
preach  to  you.'  Now,  some  of  the  Jews  believed  on  the  preach- 
ing of  St.  Paul,  without  searching  the  Scriptures,  and  ab-'o  a  great 
multitude  of  the  Gentiles,  who  certainly  did  not  search  the 
Scriptures,  which  they  did  not  possess.  The  more  fiery  zealots 
persecute  the  Apostle  and  drive  him  from  the  city." 

"  Egad !"  ejaculated  the  General,  "  those  Jews  were  genuine 
Protestants;  they  chose  to  read  the  Bible  in  their  own  way, 
and  preferred  their  own  to  St.  Paul's  interpretation." 

"St.  Paul  next  proceeds  to  Berea," continued  Father  Oswald, 
"  and  there  in  the  synagogue  of  the  Jews,  preac/ics  the  same- 
doctrine.  The  Bereans  gave  him  a  kinder  reception,  'ano 
receive  the  Word  with  all  eagerness;'  lor  this  St.  Luke  says 
1  they  were  more  noble  than  those  in  Thessalonica  ;'  and  having 
received  the  Word,  they  very  laudably  consulted  those  passage.' 
of  the  Prophets  which  the  Apostles  had  quoted,  and  thereby  con 
finned  their  faith  in  the  Word  received." 

"  There's  for  you,  Dr.  Davison  !  What  have  you  to  say  tc 
that  V  exclaimed  the  General,  rubbing  his  hands.  "  It  is  diffi- 
cult, I  think,  from  these  premises,  to  conceive  by  what  magical 
logic  a  Protestant  can  jump  to  the  conclusion,  that  therefore 
every  man,  woman,  and  child  must  read,  search,  and  expound 
the  Scripture  for  himself.  Oh !  how  I  could  laud  the  Protestant 
who,  without  passion  and  prejudice,  would  open  the  Prophets 
and  the  Apostles,  and  search  and  study  those  passages  which  a 
Catholic  divine  would  point  out  to  him,  and  prove  the  unity,  the 
indefectibility,  and  the  infallible  authority  of  the  Church  of 
Christ." 

"  What  a  noise  you  do  make,  General !"  exclaimed  the  Doc- 
tor, putting  his  hands  to  his  ears,  "  I'm  sure  you  must  quite 
distract  poor  Mrs.  Sefton's  head." 

"Oh!  no,  Doctor,"  replied  Emma,  laughing;  "I  have  not  got 
the  head-ache,  thank  you  1  besides,  I  am  accustomed  to  nr/ 
uncle's  ways." 

"But,  you  observe,  Sir,"  said  Father  Oswald  mildly,  "  that 
S».  Paul  expounded  the  Scriptures  to  the  Bereans:  the  Catholic 
pastors  imitate  his  example,  and  expound  them  to  their  flock. 
St.  Paul  did  not  leave  it  to  the  Bereans  to  question  his  authority 
or  his  exposition,  nor  would  he  have  lauded  them,  had  they, 
exercising  the  pretended  right  of  private  judgment,  come  to  a 
different  conclusion.  No  doubt,  many  did  so." 


FATHER  OSWALD.  J3 

"  Like  free-horn  Protestants,"  subjoined  (he  General.  "  Egad ! 
the  Scriptures  are  full  of  them." 

"  Tn  like  manner,"  continued  the  Father,  "the  Catholic  pas- 
tors (Jo  not  leave  it  to  the  flock  to  question  the  same  authority 
which  they  have  inherited  from  the  Apostles,  under  the  guidance 
of  the  same  unerring  Spirit.  Such  of  the  Bereans  as  searched 
the  Scriptures,  and  received  not  the  word,  were  not  praised  by 
St. Luke;  neither  can  we  praise  the  Protestants,  who  search  the 
Scriptures,  and  receive  not  the  word  of  the  authorized  preacuers.'- 

"  Bat,"  said  the  Doctor  boldly,  ''the  basis  of  the  Roman  faith 
and  its  doctrines  are  utterly  unscriptural." 

'•  It  is  easy,  Sir,  to  make  a  bold  assertion ;  but  there  is  ro 
need  to  receive  every  bold  assertion  as  an,  infallible  oracle," 
replied  Father  Oswald  ;  "  a  shrewd  man.  like  yourself,  Doctor," 
added  he,  smiling,  "may  often  ask  an  awkward  question;  pray, 
how  do  you  prove  your  assertion  1" 

"  Don't  sojihistieate,  Sir,"  said  the  Doctor  in  an  angry  tone ; 
"  it  would  be  easy  enough  to  prove  what  I  assert." 

"  But,  my  good  friend,"  continued  the  Father,  "  it  is  really 
not  fair  to  call  an  argument  sophistiy,  when  you  are  unable  to 
answer  it;  there  is  no  system  of  religion,  except  the  Catholic, 
which,  as  a  whole,  and  in  every  part,  harmonizes  completely 
with  Holy  Scripture.  With  good  reason,  we  call  upon  the 
Bible  readers  to  harmonize  amongst  themselves,  from  the  thou- 
sand and  one  discordant  sects  into  which  they  are  divided,  one 
complete  system,  in  which  all  could  agree.  We  might  then, 
form  a  comparison,  and  see  which  most  chimed  in  with  Scripture. 
As  matters  stand  at  present,  we  cannot  believe  that  the  Word  ot 
God  will  answer  to  such  jarring  notes." 

"And  what  wonder  "  said  Harriet,  u  if  they  don't  all  agree ! 
The  Church  is  fallible,  being  only  a  number  of  men  and  women, 
gradually  overcoming  their  sinful  natures." 

"This  is  really  a  novel  definition  of  the  Church/'  replied 
Father  Oswald,  looking  at  Harriet  with  surprise,  "  and  would 
comprehend  many  honest  Pagans,  Mussulmen,  and  Jews,  who, 
bv  the  light  of  natural  reason,  know  their  own  Teakness  and 
pi  oneness  to  sin,  and  often  make  efforts  to  correct  their  passions. 
The  question,  my  dear  Miss  Sel'ton,  is  not.  of  the  infallibility  ot 
individuals,  but,  whether  the  whole  body  of  Pastors,  under  the 
guidance  of  the  Holy  Ghost,  can  go  astray." 

"  Well,  Sir,  I  should  say,  and  indeed  I  feel  convinced."  said 
Harriet,  "  that  it  is  sufficient,  simply  to  lead  a  good  life,  whatever 
one  may  be,  either  Jew  or  Mussulman,  and  in  a  Christian  to 
b:li".i-':  in  Christ,  with  love — to  be  saved" 

The  Doctor  shook  his  head,  but  said  nothing:  the  General 
I 


94  FATHER  OSWALD. 

was  not  su  easily  satisfied,  and  exclaimed  with  great  warmth, 
"  To  believe  in  Christ!  Good  God  !  how  Thy  sacred  word  is 
'  wrested  by  unlearned  and  unstable  men  to  their  own  perdition  !' 
There  is  not  a  man  bearing  the  name  of  Christian,  however 
foolish,  visionary, or  impious  his  opinions  may  be,  that  does  not 
profess  'to  believe  in  Christ,'  and  with  this  vain,  vague,  unde- 
finahle  faith,  he  flatters  his  self-love,  that  he  is  secure  of  salva- 
tion." 

"  I  see  no  self-love  in  it,"  said  Harriet,  somewhat  piqued. 
"  I  hate  disputing,  but  I  do  sometimes  read  my  Bible  quietly  of 
a  Sunday,  and  I  have  often  remarked  that  soothing  sentence 
which  is  expressed  in  many  forms;  'God  so  loved  the  world, 
as  to  give  his  only  begotten  Son,  that  whosoever  helieveth  in 
Him  may  not  perish,  but  mav  have  life  everlasting.'*  And 
therefore,  as  I  do  believe  in  Him,  I  am  fully  persuaded  that  I 
may  sit  myself  down,  without  further  bother,  in  perfect  security." 

"  But.  Harriet,  did  you  never  ask  yourself  the  question,  what 
is  il  '  to  believe  in  Christ  V  "  said  Emma,  earnestly. 

"  Not  I,  dear  Emma,"  said  Harriet,  clasping  her  hands  on 
her  lap,  and  twirling  her  thumbs.  "  I  never  ask  myself  trouble- 
some questions." 

"  It's  a  very  necessary  question  though,"  said  Father  Oswald 
seriously,  "  however  troublesome  it  may  seem  to  yui." 

"  Can  you  answer  it  then,  SirT'  said  Harriet  with  a  yawn. 

"I  think  I  can,"  replied  Father  Oswald:  "to  believe  in 
Christ,  in  the  first  place,  is  to  believe  that  he  is  the  eternal  and 
only  begotten  Son  of  the  Father,  sent  into  this  world  and  made 
man  for  the  instruction  and  salvation  of  mankind  ;  and,  in  the 
next  place,  to  believe  in  the  whole  of  his  doctrine:  for  he  who 
denies  one  iota  of  it,  questions  the  veracity  of  Christ,  and  thereby 
denies  his  divinity." 

"  Well,  however,  we  all  believe  that,"  interposed  the  Doctor. 

"However,  you,  my  good  Sir,  cannot  be  ignorant,"  said 
Father  Oswald,  "  that  there  are  some  who  call  themselves 
Christians,  and  many  even  of  the  dignitaries  of  your  own  Church, 
who,  though  diligent  Bible  readers,  yet  deny  the  divinty  of  the 
Redeemer." 

"  Then,  Mr.  Oswald,  thev  do  not  deserve  the  name  of  Chris- 
tians;  they  subvert  the  foundations  of  all  faith,"  exclaimed  the 
Doctor  indignantly. 

"  No  doubt  they  do,"  replied  Father  Oswald  ;  "  for  'they  deny 
the  Lord  who  bought  them,  bringing  upon  themselves  swift  de- 
struction.'^ But  there  are  other  '  lying  teachers  who  bring  in 
sects  of  perdition ;'  such  teachers  cannot,  I  presume,  be  said  to 
*  John  iii.  IS  t  2  Peter  ii.  1 


FATHER  OSWALD.  95 

bdi-:ve  in  Christ  unto  salvation,  whatever  their  pretensions  may 
be." 

"  Certainly  not,"  replied  the  Docior  ;  "  but  I  hope  ihe  sects  of 
pc?ulii.ion  are  i'ew;  and  certainly  the  national  Churches  of  Eng- 
land and  Scotland  cannot  be  accounted  amongst  them :  tor, 
ho'Jkever  they  mav  differ  in  some  minor  circumstances,  they  a.', 
believe  in  Jesus  Christ,  their  Redeemer." 

"I  dare  not  flatter  you,"  said  Father  Oswald,  sorrowfully, 
"  with  assenting  to  that  proposition  ;  they,  too,  have  the  brand 
of  perdition  too  deeply  marked  upon  them  ;  '  they  are  they  who 
separate  themselves.'*  They  no  longer  '  keep  the  unity  of 
sprrit ;'  they  have  severed  '  the  bond  of  peace ;'  they  form  no 
longer  'one  body  and  one  spirit ;'  they  no  longer  hold  '  the  one 
fait/i?  and,  there:bre,  I  must  conclude,  they  no  longer  believe 
ia  the  '  one  Lord  '  "t 

"How,  Sir;  how  so,  Sir!"  said  the  Doctor,  much  ruffied; 
"  what  do  you  mean  1  I  beg  you  will  explain  yourself." 

"  I  will.  Sir."  said  Father  Oswald  patiently;  "does  not  St, 
John  say,  •  Whosoever  revolteth,  and  continueth  not  in  the  doc- 
trine of  Christ,  hath  not  God  l"j  now,  all  the  Protestant  Chur- 
ches have  revolted  from  the  doctrine  of  Christ:  because  they 
have  revolted  1'rom  that  Church  which  was  in  possession  of '  the 
faith  once  delivered  to  the  saints.'  "§ 

"But,  Sir,  the  Church  i'ell  into  error; — into  gross  and  damna- 
ble errors  and  abuses,"  said  the  Doctor  passionately  ;  "  hence, 
the  first  reformers  did  well  to  separate  from  her,  and  form  a  new 
fold  for  themselves." 

"  Aye,"  said  the  General,  "  and  take  the  old  reprobate,  Harry, 
for  their  own  shepherd." 

"Excuse  me,  Doctor  Davison,"  said  Father  Oswald  firmly, 
and  drawing  himself  up  with  great  dignity,  "  but  to  say  that  the 
Church  has  erred,  is  to  <:ive  the  lie  to  Christ,  who  has  declared 
that  it  shall  never  err ;  and  who  has  promised  to  remain  with 
his  Church  all  days.  Whoever  asserts  that  the  Church  has 
erred,  and  that  the  gates  of  Hell  have  prevailed  against  her,  im- 
pugns the  veracity  of  Christ ;  and  certainly  cannot  be  said  to 
believe  in  Him,  because  to  believe  in  Christ  is  to  receive,  with 
humble  docility  of  heart,  and  an  entire  submission  of  the  under- 
standing, nil  the  divine  truths  which  He  has  revealed  10  his 
Church,  and  to  give  an  entire  and  undivided  assent  to  every 
thin:*  that  she  teaches  in  his  name." 

"  Yes,  Sir,  yes,"  growled  the  Doctor ;  (i  >he  Gospel  no  doui.t 
contains  the  compendium  ol  those  truths.'-' 

"  But  ihe  Gospel/'  rejoined  Father  Oswald,  !l  must  be  prraoted 
*  Judo  19  '.  Epti.  i*  ;<  12  John  9  4  Juae  3 


36  FATHER  OSWALD. 

and  tan«U  by  men  who  have  authority.*  The  Apostles  and 
I  heir  legitimate  successors  have  received  this  authority  from 
Christ  himself:  '  Go,  teach  all  nations,  teaching  them  to  observe 
all  things  whatsoever  I  have  commanded.'  The  Gospel  of 
Christ  is  essentially  one  ;  when,  therefore,  '  lying  teachers'  corie 
amongst  us,  and  announce  new,  perverse,  and  contradictory 
(i)iininns  as  the  doctrines  of  Christ,  we  say  tothem,  You  announce 
'•  another  gospel,  which  is  not  another,  only  there  are  some  that 
trouble  you,  and  would  pervert  the  Gospel  of  Christ.  Bui 
though  we,  or  an  angel  from  Heaven,  preached  a  gospel  to  you 
besides  that  which  we  have  preached  to  you,  lot  him  be  ana- 
thema.' >;t 

There  was  a  pause  ;  all  seemed  struck  with  the  words  they 
had  just  heard,  and  the  impressive  manner  in  which  they  were 
uttered;  but,  in  a  few  minutes,  the  Doctor,  rallying  his  scattered 
intellects,  said,  in  a  hurried  manner  — 

"  But  I  maintain  that  the  Roman  Church  is  fallen  and  apos 
tate  ;  and  her  priests  not  being  able  to  produce  Scripture  author- 
ity for  all  they  teach,  appeal  to  tradition  and  antiquity:  the 
religion  which  founds  its  chief  claim  en  antiquity  must  be  weak." 

"Why,  Doctor,"  exclaimed  the  General,  "you  called  in  anti- 
quity to  your  own  aid  just  now  !  Do  be  consistent,  at  least." 

"But,"  said  Harriet,  coming  forward  to  support  the  Doctor, 
"  if  antiquity  is  a  proof  of  truth,  Mahometans  have  more  right 
to  it  than  Catholics,  and  more  claim  to  numbers,  power,  and 
unity;  many  of  the  doctrines  of  Mahomet  being  more  ancient 
than  the  ncvly  discovered  doctrines  of  Mass  and  Purgatory." 

"  Besides,"  interposed  the  Doctor,  "the  supremacy  of  the  Pope 
began  only  in  the  seventh  century." 

"  My  friends,  my  friends,  what  a  confusion  of  accusations, 
and  a  jumble  of  ideas!"  exclaimed  the  General;  "just  listen 
one  moment:  it  seems  to  me,  that  if  an  antiquity,  which  extends 
in  one  unbroken  chain  up  to  the  Apostles  themselves,  be  not  a 
n.'oof  of  the  true  Church  of  Christ,  I  know  not  what  is.  Again, 
Mass  and  Purgatory,  and  every  other  dogma  of  the  Catholic 
Church,  are  proved  by  the  testimony  of  Fathers  who  lived  long 
before  Mahomet;  had  it  not  been  a  lady  who  had  made  these 
observations,  I  should  have  said,  what  ignorance  !" 

Harriet  bit  her  lip. 

"  But,  Sir,  I  would  have  you  to  understand  clearly,"  persisted 
the  Doctor,  "  that  Protestants  deny  the  succession  of  the  popes 


*  See  on  this  subject,  a  most  interesting  volume  published  by  Cass 
and  Sons,  ^ew  York,—  The  Written  Word  and  the  Living  Witness,  or 
Ihble  Question  Fairly  Tested:  Part  III. 

t  Gai.  i.  6,  7,  8. 


serly 


PATHKR  OSWALD.  9t 

from  St.  Peter,  or,  that  St.  Peter  ever  was  bishop  of  Rome  _ 
Protestants  are  quite  as  capable  of  discerningtruth  as  Catholics 
there  is  no  means  of  go  ting  at  truth  on  such  points,  but  historic 
evidence." 

"  Pshaw .  pshaw  !  Doctor."  cried  the  General,  offering  him  a 
p'inch  of  snuff,  "well-informed  Protestants  are  now  ashamed  ol 
such  an  old  wife's  fable.  St.  Irenasus,  who  lived  in  the  second 
century,  the  disciple  of  St.  Polycarp,  who  was  the  disciple  of 
St.  John  the  Apostle,  has  given  us  the  list  of  the  popes  down  to 
nis  own  days,  beginning  vvirh  St.  Peter  " 

"  Nothing  can  be  plainer  than  that,  I  think,"  said  Emma. 

"  But  from  historic  evidence,  my  dear  Mrs.  Sei'ton,"  replied 
'.he  Doctor,  "  Protestants  deny  that  the  Church  of  Piome  hns  for 
many  centuries  resembled,  or  does  now  resemble  the  primitive 
Church,  as  described  in  the  New  Testament." 

Mrs.  Sefton  smiled. 

"  Faith  !"  said  the  General,  laughing,  "  the  Protestant  clergy 
oiling  in  wealth,  ease,  and  luxury,  would  cut  a  curious  figure, 
:ompared  with  the  primitive  preachers  of  the  Gospel.  It  would 
>e  a  most  edifying  spectacle,  to  see  the  Protestant  laity  selling 
fheir  possessions  and  uniting  their  property  for  the  common  USP 
of  all.  Thousands  and  tens  of  thousands  of  Catholics  of  both 
sexes  follow  this  primitive  rule  to  the  lettor  in  religious  commu- 
nities, even  to  the  present  day." 

The  Doctor  looked  very  angry.  "AVell,  I  am  convinced." 
persisted  he,  "  that  the  Catholic  Church  teaches  many  painful 
things  not  contained  in  the  Bible.1' 

"No,  Doctor,  it  does  not,"  said  Father  Oswald  ;  "the  volun- 
tary poverty  of  so  many  individuals  in  the  Catholic  Church  is 
one  of  those  painful  things,  I  suppose  !" 

"  Well,  I  as  a  sound  Protestant  divine,"  said  the  Doctor 
solemnly,  "  maintain  that  no  doctrines  ought  to  be  received,  but 
what  can  be  plainly  shown  in  the  Bible." 

"Then  we  must  turn  Jews,"  said  Emma,  laughing,  "  and 
Keep  the  sabbath-clay  on  Saturday.  But  how  do  you  prove  your 
assertion  1  You  must  prove  it  from  your  Bible;  lor  really  I 
cannot  admit  it  on  mere  assertions,  Doctor."  , 

The  Doctor  looked  puzzled,  but  after  a  pause  said,  "  Mrs. 
Sel'ton,  I  prove  it  in  this  way,  that  the  observances  most  insisted 
on  in  the  Roman  Church,  as,  confession,  mass,  purgatory,  and 
sm.li  like  fond  inventions,  are  only  commandments  of  men." 

"  If  you  call  confession  a  commandment  of  men,"  said  Father 
Oswald,  "  will  you  tell  me,  by.  what  man  it  was  first  given  ! 
and  also  by  what  extraordinary  power  he  could  prevail  upon  a!i 
Christians  to  submit  themselves  to  so  grievous,  and  till  then 
so  unheard  of  a  yoke  V  9* 


98  FATHER   OS tt'ALD. 

"  Oh  !"  said  the  Doctor,  "  it  was  introduced  gradually  in  the 
dark  ages." 

"Still,"  replied  Father  Oswald,  "Some  Pope,  Bishop,  or 
Priest  must  have  begun  the  innovation;  did  he  meet  with  no 
opposition  V 

"  What  opposition  could  he  meet  with,"  answered  the  Doctor, 
'  from  the  ignorant  and  superstitious  men  of  those  times  ?" 

"Doctor,"  interposed  the  General,  "  you  have,  melhinks,  a 
congregation  consisting  of  as  ignorant  and  superstitious  a  set  of 
bumpkins,  as  ever  disgraced  a  Christian  congregation  in  a. 
Christian  country ;  I  will  bet  a  hundred  pounds  to  a  sixpence, 
that  in  twelve  months  you  will  not  persuade  one  to  come  tc 
confession  to  you/' 

"  1  shall  never  make  the  experiment,  General,  I  promise  you/' 
said  the  Doctor. 

"  But,  my  good  Sir,"  said  Father  Oswald,  "  you  must  surely 
nave  read  St.  John's  Gospel,  in  Avhich  he  relates  our  Saviour's 
words  '  When  He  had  said  this,  He  breathed  upon  them  ;  and 
He  said  to  them,  Receive  ye  the  Holy  Ghost:  whose  sins  you 
shall  forgive,  they  are.  ibrgiven  them  ;  and  whose  sins  you  shall 
retain,  they  are  retained.'*  Here  we  see  the  commission 
stamped  by  the  broad  seal  of  Heaven,  by  virtue  of  which  the 
Pastors  of  Christ's  Church  absolve  repenting  sinners  upon  their 
confession." 

"  But  there  is  not  a  word  about  confession  there,"  interrupted 
the  Doctor;  "  I  know  there  is  a  text  in  St.  James,  which  says, 
'Confess  your  faults  one  to  another,'t  and  so  forth,  but  in  this 
text  there  is  not  a  word  said  about  a  priest,  or  minister  of  reli- 
gion." 

''  duote  correctly,  my  good  Doctor,  quote  correctly,"  cried 
the  General;  "the  text  is  this;  'Confess  therefore  your  sins 
one  to  another;  and  pray  for  one  another  that  you  may  be 
saved:':  now,  liiis  little  word  therefore,  refers  to  what  the  Apos- 
tle had  just  mentioned  in  the  verses  fifteen  and  fourteen  of  the 
same  chapter,  in  which  he  had  ordered  the  priests  of  the  Church 
;o  be  called  for,  and  brought  in  to  the  sick." 

"Certainly,"  said  Father  Oswald;  "  and  as  we  have  already 
seen  from  the  words  of  St.  John,  that  Christ  our  Lord  gave  to 
his  Apostles,  and  their  successors  in  the  ministry,  the  power  to 
furtiic-e  and  to  rclttin  sins,  nothing  can  be  more  clear  than  the 
consequences  which  must  follow  trom  this  discretionary  power, 
namely,  that  we  must  confess  our  sins,  and  make  known  the 
stale  of  our  consciences  to  the  ministers  of  Christ,  before  they 
can  possibly  know  whose  sins  they  are  to  forgive,  and  whose 
.hey  are  to  retain." 

*  John  xx.  22.  23  +  .Jamns  ^   IK  t  James  v.  10. 


FATHER  OSWALD.  90 

''•'Mosi  disagreeable  doctrine,  indeed!"  mattered  Harriet;  ;i  1 
wonder  how  any  one  can  be  induced  to  take  such  a  deal  of  use- 
less trouble." 

•'  For  the  sake  of  his  immortal  sou!,"  said  the  General. 

"Yes,"  continued  Father  Oswald;  "we  all  have  our  sins: 
one  condition  is  requisite  to  obtain  pardon  ;  we  must  amf-ssonr 
sins,  and  then  God  is  faithful  and  just  in  his  promises,  and  He 
will  cleanse  us,  through  the  sacrament  of  penance,  of  all  our 
iniquities.  Jesus  Christ  is  then  our  Advocate  with  the  Father. 
He  is  the  propitiation  for  our  sins.  His  blood  cleanseth  us 
from  them  all.  Of  this  we  cannot  doubt;  for  f.ve  efiicacy  ol 
the  sacrament  is  derived  from  the  blood  of  Christ ;  but  that  blood 
must  be  applied  to  our  souls  through  those  channels  which  He 
has  opened,  one  of  which  the  Apostle  most  clearly  points  out. 
namely.  '  if  we  confess  our  sins,'* — so  clearly,  that  none  but  the 
wilfully  blind  can  mistake  it." 

"  Do  you  ever  recollect,  Doctor,"  said  Emma  with  an  arch 
'•mile,  "  to  have  read  in  the  works  of  St.  Martin  Luther  himself 
these  words  1 — '  Sooner,'  says  he  '  would  I  submit  to  the  papal 
tyranny,  than  let  confession  be  abolished.'  " 

"Some  spurious  edition,  no  doubt,"  said  the  Doctor,  rising 
and  taking  his  candle ;  ':  but  I  must  wish  you  good  night,  Mrs. 
Sefton,  I  have  a  letter  to  write  for  tomorrow's  post;  but  you, 
my  good  lady,  are  grossly  deceived  if  you  think  the  Roman 
Catholic  Church  has  power  to  forgive  sins;  no,  she  has  no  such 
power:  none  but  God  can  forgive  sins.  No  command  exists  in 
the  Bible  to  confess  to  priests,  at  least  that  I  can  interpret  in  tha. 
light." 

"Hold,  Doctor,"  cried  the  General ;  "we  cannot  let  you  off 
in  that  style;  sit  down  a  tew  minutes  longer." 

"  Excuse  me,  General."  replied  the  Doctor,  walking  towards 
the  door,  "  it  is  a  letter  of  importance,  and  must  be  ready." 

"  Will  you  stick  to  your  charge  then,  Doctor,  for  four-and- 
twenty  hours,  and  stand  fire  to-morrow  evening:  rememlier, 
Sir,  you  have  given  no  answer  to  my  objection  ;  so,  in  order 
that  you  may  have  something  to  ponder  upon,  if  you  should 
chance  to  wake  in  the  night,  I  will  state  it  again  briefly.  Two 
serious  Bible  readers  come  to  two  contradictory  conclusions  on 
seme  great  mystery  of  faith  affecting  their  eternal  salvation  ; 
which  is  to  yield  to  the  other  1  or  how  is  the  question  ;*>  i:o 
settled  ?  Has  Christ  commanded  us  to  believe  all  that  he  linf 
revealed  under  the  pain  of  eternal  damnation,  and  provided  no 
easy,  secure,  and  certain  means  of  knowing  what  he  hasre«cal'\l  1 
think  of  that,  Dr.  Davison." 

1  John. i  0 


100  FATHEK  OSW.ILD. 

"  As  to  that,  General  Russell,  I  have  given  my  answer  ;  it  it 
not  likely  I  shall  change  my  mind  to-morrow,  and  I  am  not 
afraid  of  your  lire,  I  can  assure  you;  but  the  morrow  will  pro- 
vide for  itself,  '  sufficient  for  the  day  is  the  evil  thereof,'  say* 
Holy  Scripture,"  muttered  he  to  himself,  as  he  walked  along 
the  corridor  to  his  room. 

In  a  lew  minutes,  Harriet  took  her  candle  also,  and  retired 
When  she  had  closed  the  door  after  her,  Mrs.  Sefton  asked  hei 
uncle,  with  a  sigh,  how  long  he  thought  Dr.  Davisoa  was  going 
10  ,'tay." 

"I  don't  know,  my  dear;  the  shorter  the  better,"  said  hn 
bluntly. 

"  Long  or  short,"  said  Father  Oswald  kindly,  "  don't  let  this 
iittle  trial  disturb  you,  my  dear  child;  God  will  strengthen  and 
protect  you  in  all  your  difficulties,  if  you  place  your  whole  trust 
in.  Him;  but  you  have  been  quite  long  enough  disturbed  this 
evening;  so  good-night,  and  God  bless  you." 


CHAPTER   XIII. 

"  'Heathens,'  they  said,  'ran  toll  us  right  from  wrong, 
Jhit  to  the  Christian  higher  points  belon;,'." 
Yet  Jacques  proceeded,  void  of  fear  and  *hame, 
In  his  old  method,  and  obtained  the  name 
Of  Moral  Preaclur.     Vet  they  all  a»reed, 
Whatever  error  had  defiled  his  creed. 
His  life  was  pure  ;  and  him  they  could  commend. 
Not  as  their  guide  indeed,  but.  as  their  friend."— CUABBB 

DOCTOR  DAVISON  had  his  letter  ready  for  the  post  the  ne.r. 
morning,  as  he  had  announced  the  previous  even  ing;  but  to  his 
treat  disappointment  the  post  could  not  go.  The  snow  ha?,  in- 
creased so  much  during  the  night,  that  all  the  roads  from  tliu1 
II  11  were  completely  blocked  up.  The  letter  wasto  Mr. Sefton. 
complaining  bitterly  of  the  disagreeable  circumstances  in  which 
Ii3  lound  himself  placed;  and  his  entire  conviction,  that  be 
could  be  of  no  use  whatever  to  Mrs.  Sefton  in  bringing  her 
back  to  Protestantism.  He  failed  not  to  hint  at  his  own  zealous 
exertions  in  the  cause  in  which  Mr.  Sefton  had  so  deep  an  in- 
terest, and  to  insert  two  or  three  well-turned  sentences  of  ree'ret 
at  the  hopeless  obstinacy  of  the  strayed  sheep;  he  concluded  by 
recommending  measures  of  conciliation,  and  by  giving  his 


FAT-HKR  OSWALD.  101 

opinion,  that  mildness  would  do  more  than  violence  and  perse- 
cution to  carry  conviction  to  the  heart.  The  Doctor  had  deter- 
mined, moreover,  to  return  immediately  to  the  parsonage,  and 
there  wait  for  the  answer;  the  unexpected  increase  ot'the  snow- 
storm was  therefore  a  considerable  annoyance  to  him,  as  he 
coulil  not  help  anticipating  a  iew  more  troublesome  days  ami 
wearisome  evenings.  In  vain  he  looked  out  of  the  window, 
and  then  consulted  the  thermometer ;  the  snow  seemed  every 
moment  to  increase,  and  the  whole  air  was  darkened  with  the 
constant  and  quiet  succession  of  brilliant  flakes,  as  they  silently 
descended  to  feed  the  dazzling  mass  of  snow  which  covered  the 
whole  surface  of  the  landscape  several  feet  deep,  as  far  as  the 
eye  could  reach  to  the  utmost  bounds  of  the  horizon.  There 
was  no  resource'  for  the  Doctor,  but  to  find  some  occupation  to 
divert  his  mind  from  the  tedium  of  this  involuntary  captivity  ; 
he  therefore  settled  himself  to  write  a  letter  to  Mrs.  Davison,  to 
have  the  pleasure  of  complaining  at  least  of  all  his  annoyances- 
•.rusting,  in  the  meantime,  that  the  road  would  be  sufficiently 
cleared  to  allow  a  passage  ibr  the  little  boy,  who  carried  the 
post-bag  to  the  next  town  and  passed  the  door  of  the  parsonage 
in  his  route.  Father  Oswald  was  compelled  also  to  remain, 
but  not  unwillingly ;  for  he  saw  he  could  in  this  moment  impart 
much  benefit  and  consolation  to  the  new  con  vert;  besides,  he 
knew  his  flock  at  his  little  Mission  could  not  suffer,  as  there  was 
one  of  the  superiors  of  his  Order  staying  there  ibr  a  time  on 
business  of  the  Society.  Mrs.  Sefton  i'elt  the  influence  of  the 
severe  storm  and  was  not  well  enough  to  see  her  friends  in  the 
evening.  This  was  a  great  relief  to  the  worthy  Doctor,  though 
he  affected  to  lament  the  circumstance  much,  and  neglected  not 
to  send  most  polite  inquiries  after  the  invalid  by  Harriet  and 
Mrs.  Ashton.  In  the  evening  the  General  challenged  him  to  a 
game  at  chess,  and  failed  not  now  and  then  to  remind  him,  thai 
he  came  off  much  better  in  that  battle,  than  it  was  likely  ho 
would  in  his  controversial  one.  which  he  begged  him  to  remem- 
ber stood  over  for  the  next  meeting  in  his  niece's  room.  This 
meeting  the  Doctor  promised  himself  would  never  take  plare- 
for  he  had  determined  to  urge  business  of  importance,  ana 
escape  to  the  parsonage  the  moment  the  road  was  safe;  but  this 
determination,  like  so  many  of  more  importance,  vanished  be- 
fore the  influence  of  circumstances.  In  a  few  days,  Mrs.  Sefton 
was  able  to  receive  them,  and  the  Doctor  was  still  snow-bound ; 
he  could  not  in  common  politeness  avoid  joining  the  parly, 
i bough  somewhat  late  in  the  evening.  The  Doctor  did  his  u'.- 
i  vst  to  keep  the  conversation  on  general  topics,  in  which  Father 
Os'vald  seconded  him,  and  entertained  them  with  seine  rexy 


105J  FATIIEU  OSWALD. 

Interesting  literary  anecdotes ;  for  he  did  not  thimc  ihese  con- 
troversial discussions  good  either  for  Mrs.  Sei'ton's  health  or 
spirits,  in  her  present  convalescent  state.  But  the  General  was 
not  to  be  baulked  of  his  evening's  amusement;  besides,  h» 
thought  the  sooner  the  Doctor  got  a  good  drubbing,  as  he  called 
it.  the  sooner  the  matter  would  be  finished,  and  the  sooner  they 
would  be  released  from  his  presence ;  therefore,  the  moment 
there  was  a  convenient  pause  in  the  conversation,  he  commenced, 
"  Weil,  Doctor,  do  you  still  stick  to  your  charge,  that  the  Church 
has  no  power  to  remit  sins,  and  that  there  is  no  command  to 
that  effect  in  the  Bible  ?" 

"Yes,  General,"  said  the  Doctor  very  reluctantly;  "I  do 
repent  what  I  said  some  evenings  since ;  it  is  my  creed,  that  none 
but  God  can  forgive  sins." 

"  On  my  word !  and  a  very  easy  way  you  have  chosen  to  get 
rid  of  your  sins,"  replied  the  General ;  "you  have  only  tobelievo 
in  the  Scriptures  according  to  your  creed,  and  the  job  is  done, 
now  let  me  try  the  experiment.  Suppose  my  conscience  ia 
Imrthened  with  sin,  I  make  an  act  of  faith,  I  must  firmly  believe 
that  Christ  died  for  me.  and  made  full  atonement  to  the  justice 
of  God  for  all  my  sins;  I  believe  this  on  the  infallible  Word  of 
God,  as  I  read  it  in  the  Scriptures,  lo!  my  sins  are  blotted  out; 
nothing  more  comfortable!'' 

<;  Very  comfortable,  indeed!"  said  Harriet. 

"Wait  a  little,  Miss  Sefton,"  continued  the  General.  "1 
open  the  Scriptures  again,  and  they  tell  me.  I  must  confess  my 
sins  to  a  man  who  has  received  power  to  forgive  them,  and,  lo  ! 
my  sins  stare  me  again  in  the  face!  not  quite  so  comfortable 
after  all,  you  see,  Miss  Harriet." 

"Blaspheme  not,  Sir,"  said  the  Doctor,  turning  very  red, 
"  this  is  not  a  fit  subject  for  jesting  with." 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,  Dr.  Davison,  I  never  was  more  serious 
in  my  life,"  replied  the  General ;  "  but  let  me  finish  my  sentence. 
Well,  I  now  betake  myself,  alter  due  preparation,  to  the  confes- 
sional, and  when  I  have  got  over  the  disagreeable,  but  indispen- 
sable task  of  declaring  my  sins, — of  blushing  at  my  iniquities, 
—of  detesting  them  from  my  heart, — repenting  of  the  grievous 
offence  I  have  given  to  God, — and  proposing,  on  no  considera- 
tion, ever  more  to  relapse  into  them,  I  receive  absolution,  or  the 
pardon  and  remission  of  all ;  then  I  rise  up  from  the  feet  of  the 
Confessor,  with  well-founded  confidence  that  my  iniquities  h;,ve 
been  really  forgiven.  Now,  indeed,  I  feel  comfortable,  ;.nd  the 
more  so,  that  I  have  carried  my  faith  in  Scripture  into  faithful 
execution.  That  no  one  but  God  can  forgive  sins  is  very  true 
and  sound  Catholic  doctrine ;  but  it  is  equallv  true  that  God 


FATHER  OSWALIJ.  303 

ran  prescribe  what  conditions  He,  in  His  wisdom,  mercy,  and 
I ustice,  shall  deem  proper;  and  that  He  can  exercise  this  His 
supreme  power  through  any  minister  on  whom  He  pleases  to 
confer  it.:> 

"  But,  Sir,"  said  the  Doctor  emphatically,  "  has  God  conferred 
such  power  on  man  1  has  He  given  this,  His  supreme  power, 
to  weak,  sinful  man  as  His  delegates  V 

"  Yes,  He  has,"  said  Father  Oswald  firmly :  "  Christ  cur 
Saviour  wrought  a  miracle  to  prove  that  God  can  do  this." 

"  How  is  that,  Sir?  I  do  not  remember  any  such  thing  in 
Scripture,"  said  the  Doctor. 

"And  yet  St.  Matthew  relates  it  thus:  'And  behold,  they 
lirought  to  Him  one  sick  of  the  palsy,  lying  on  a  bed.  And 
Jesus,  seeing  their  faith,  said  to  the  man  sick  of  the  palsy,  Be 
of  good  heart,  son,  thy  sins  are  forgiven  thee.  And  behold, 
some  of  the  Scribes  said  within  themselves,  He  blasphemeth. 
And  Jesus,  seeing  their  thoughts,  said,  Why  do  you  think  evil 
in  your  hearts  1  Whether  is  it  easier  to  say,  Thy  sins  are  for- 
given thee,  or  to  say,  Arise,  and  walk  1  But  that  you  may 
know  that  the  Sou  of  man.  hath  power  on  earth  to  forgive  sins 
(then  said  He  to  the  man,  sick  of  the  palsy),  Arise,  take  up  thy 
bed,  and  go  into  thy  house.  And  he  arose,  and  went  into  his 
house.  And  the  multitudes,  seeing  it,  feared  and  glorified  God, 
that  gave  such  power  to  men.'*  We  now  and  then  meet  with  a 
glimpse  of  Protestantism  in  Holy  Scripture.  The  Scribes  in 
this  passage  are  fair  representations  of  them;  for,  like  them, 
they  say,  '  He  blasphemeth.'  " 

"Egad!"  exclaimed  the  General,  "true  Protestants  again, 
the  Bible  swarms  with  them." 

"  It  is  too  much,  Sir,  it  is  too  much,"  said  the  Doctor  very 
indignantly." 

"  Not  at  all  too  much,  my  good  friend,"  replied  Father  Oswald, 
quietly ;  you  made  use  of  those  very  words  yourself,  not  three 
minutes  ago,  to  the  General.  But  observe.  Dr.  Davison,  Christ 
promised  to  confer  this  power  of  forgiving  sins,  first  upon  PetiT 
alone,  with  the  plenitude  of  all  jurisdiction  :  '  I  will  give  to  lh.ce 
the  keys  of  the  kingdom  of  Heaven.  And  whatsoever  then 
shalt  bind  upon  earth,  it- shall  be  bound  also  in  Heaven;  and 
whatsoever  thou  shalt  loose  on  earth,  it  shall  be  loosed  also  in 
Heaven. 't  Next,  He  gave  it  to  all  the  Apostles  in  a  body: 
'Amen,  I  say  to  you,  whatsoever  you  shall  bind  upon  earth; 
fiiall  be  bound  also  in  Heaven  ;  and  whatsoever  you  shall  loose 
upon  earth,  shall  be  loosed  also  in  Heaven.'}  At  length  H-; 
actually  conferred  that  power  as  fully  cs  He  had  received  i( 
•  Matt  if.  2,8.  T  Mitt.  xvi.  JO  I  Matt  xviii.  18. 


«04  FATHER  OSWALD. 

rom  the  Father:  'As  the  Father  hath  sent  me,  I  also  send 
you.  When  he  had  said  this,  he  brrrJhcd  upon  them,  and  lie 
said  to  them,  Receive  ye  the  Holy  Ghost ;  whose  sins  you  sh;ill 
forgive,  they  are  forgiven  them;  and  whose  sins  you  sh.ili 
retain,  they  are  retained.'*  It  is  evident  from  this  very  explicit 
text,  that  Christ  constituted  his  Apostles  judges  over  tne  con- 
sciences of  men  ;  for  they  are  to  determine  who  is  fit  to  have 
his  sins  forgiven,  cr  who  is  not  fit,  and  must  have  his  sins 
retained.  Now,  it  is  impossible  that  the  ministers  of  Christ 
can  come  to  this  knowledge  but  by  the  candid  confession  of  the 
penitent. 

"But,"  said  Harriet  doubting!}',  "supposing  Christ  did  give 
this  power  to  his  Apostles,  it  does  not  follow  that  it  exists  in  :he 
Catholic  Church  now:  it  cert:  inly  js  not  practised  in  (lie  Pro 
testant  Church,  and  if  the  power  exists  at  all,  is  considered  as  a 
de;id  letter." 

"  My  dear  Miss  Sefton,"  replied  Father  Oswald.  "  the  powers 
which  Christ  gave  to  his  Apostles,  when  he  sent  them,  are 
transmitted  to  their  successors  in  the  ministry  until  the  end  ol 
'  days :  '  Behold  I  am  with  you  all  <!nys,  even  to  the  consummation 
of  the  world. 't  Confession  is  daily  practised  nnw  in  the  Catholic 
Church,  and  with  us  it  is  no  dead  letter.  The  primitive  Chris- 
tians practised  confession:  'And  many  of  them  lhat  believed 
came,  confessing  and  de-daring  lh"ir  deeds,  and  many  of  them 
who  had  followed  curious  arts,  brought  together  I  heir  books, 
and  burnt  them  before  all ;  and  counting  the  price  of  them,  they 
found  the  money  to  be  fifty  thousand  pieces  of  silver.';  Now, 
the  faithful  came  not  to  boast  of  their  good  deeds,  but  to  con'ess 
and  manifest  their  evil  deeds,  as  is  evident  from  the  fruit  of  their 
confession  in  burning  their  wicked  books." 

"  This  certainly  seems  curious,"  said  Harriet,  "  and  difficult 
to  explain  in  any  other  way.'' 

<:  The  Apostles,"  continued  Father  Oswald.  "  exhorted  their 
con  verts  to  approach  the  sacrament  of  reconciliation,  in  language 
perfectly  understood  and  familiar  to  Catholics  of  the  present 
day:  'But  all  things  are  of  God,  who  hath  reconciled  us  to 
Himself  by  Christ,  and  hath  given  to  us  ihc  ministry  of  rcctmci- 
liation.  For  God  indeed  was  in  Christ,  reconciling  the  world 
to  himself,  net  imputing  to  them  their  sins  ;  and  he  hath  placed 
in  us  the  word  of  reconciliation.  For  Christ,  therefore,  we  are 
ambassadors,  God  as  it  were  exhorting  by  us.  For  Christ,  we 
Beseech  you,  lie  n'cimcilnl  to  God.'  "§ 

"  Mighty  sophistical !"  said  the  Doctor  contemptuously;  "1 
cannot  see  the  application." 

*  John  xx.  21.  t  Mi.n.  jrxvitt  20. 

•  A.CIS.  xix.  13  19  ">  *  Car  v  jft,  tit.  •» 


TATHKK  OSWALD.  105 

"Why,  it  is  as  clear  as  the  sun  at  noonday,  Doctor,"  said  the 
General;  "take  a  pinch  of  snuff  to  brighten  your  intellects;  1 
fear  they  are  somewhat  oSuscated." 

"You  see,"  s?.id  Father  Oswald  patiently,  "the  Apostle  in 
Ihis  passage  expressly  says,  that  Christ  has  established  in  hii 
Hhurch  a  ministry  of  reconciliation  'or  the  forgiveness  of  sins, 
that  his  ministers  are  the  ambassadors  or  delegates  of  God, 
holding  the  word  of  reconciliation  or  the  power  of  absolul ion 
Again  St  John  exhorts  also  to  confession  :  '  If  we  say  tit:  t  wt 
nave  no  sin.  we  deceive  ourselves,  and  the  truth  is  not  in  us 
If  we  confess  our  sins,  he  is  faithful  and  just  to  forgive  us  out 
sins,  and  cleanse  us  from  all  iniquity.'*  St.  J.;ines  is  equally 
earnest  on  this  point :  '  Confess,  therefore,  your  sins  one  to  an- 
i.ther;'t  there  can  be  no  doubt  the  Apostle  means,  to  those  who, 
we  have  just  seen,  have  power  lofur^iet  them  or  to  retain  them." 

"  Well."  said  Harriet,  "  what  you  have  just  stated  is  certainly 
very  strong;  still  this  confession  is  a  most  severe  law  to  flesh 
and  blood ;  and  then  the  trouble  and  bother  of  it !  to  say  nothing 
of  the  shame  one  must  leel  to  te!i  all  one's  faults  to  a  man  ; 
dear  me !  I  am  sura  I  never  could  bring  my  mind  to  do  it.  Would 
it  be  absolutely  necessary,  Sir,  belore  one  could  be  made  a 
Catholic!" 

"You  have  seen,"  said  Father  Oswald  smiling,  "that  St. 
Feter  holds  the  keys  of  the  kingdom  of  Heaven  ;  we  must  be 
content  to  enter  there  on  the  conditions  our  Saviour  has  attached 
to  unlocking  the  door.:: 

"  Besides,  Harriet,"  said  Emma,  "  though  it  seems  at  first  a 
very  hard  and  disagreeable  thing  to  a  Protestant,  yet,  I  do  as- 
sure you,  that  the  inexpressible  peace  and  comfort  which  suc- 
ceed the  performance  of  this  duty,  will  repny  a  tboussndi'oM 
whatever  there  is  humiliating  and  painful  in  ft.  Before  I  took 
the  final  determination  of  becoming  a  Catholic,  it  was  one  of  the 
things  which  worried  and  frightened  me  more  than  any  other; 
it  used  to  occur  to  rny  waking  thoughts  and  U>  my  nightly 
dreams ;  and  in  the  midst  of  rny  most  pleasing  occupations  it 
brought  a  pang  to  my  heart,  which  I  cannot  describe,  i  thought 
it  would  be  impossible  to  get  oVer  this  great  difficulty.  I  prayed 
to  God  to  help  me,  and  then  I  began  to  think  of  it  with  less  ap- 
prehension ;  I  resolved  to  do  it.  whatever  it  might  cost  me,  for 
the  love  of  God;  when  I  cam?  t;>  the  execution  of  r»y  resolve, 
my  fears  and  horror  of  it  redoubled  ;  but  God  had  compassion 
on  me,  and  gave  me  graco  to  kneel  down  at  the  feet  of  the 
priest,  and  to  confess  niy  sins;  then  all  the  difficulties  vanished, 
and  in  a  few  moments,  instead  of  feeling  one  of  the  most 

*  1  Juh:i  i.  8.  y  t  Jumes  v.  15. 

10 


(Ob  FATHER  OSWALD. 

frightened  and  miserable  of  beings,  I  felt  one  of  the  most  con- 
soled and  most  joyful.  Since  that  I  have  had  no  difficulty; 
but  every  time  I  approach  this  sacrament,  I  feel  an  increase  of 
peace  and  spiritual  consolation." 

Doctor  Davison  appeared  affected,  and  sighed  deeply. 
"  Yes,"  observed  the  General  musingly;  "it  is  this  bugbear 
of  confession  which  prevents  hundreds  from  coming  to  the  point, 
arid  embracing  the  Catholic  religion,  though  they  perfectly  feel 
the  conviction  that  it  is  the  only  true  one ;  they  cannot  brook 
the  humiliation  of  telling  their  sins  to  a  fellow-man,  though  that 
man  is  bound  by  all  laws,  divine  and  human,  to  perpetual 
secrecy.  You  can  never,  my  dear  niece,  sufficiently  thank  God, 
who  gave  you  the  grace  to  overcome  your  natural  repugnance, 
— for  I  will  acknowledge  it  is  a  very  natural  repugnance, — to 
this  act  of  penance,  and  who  enabled  you  to  embrace  the  humi 
fjiation  of  the  Cross  " 

"  I  should  not  so  much  object,"  said  the  Doctor  rather  slowly. 
•"to  the  humiliation  of  the  ;ict ;  it  is  not  that  I  should  mind  so 
much;  but  I  object  to  the  system  altogether,  as  tyrannical  and 
•galling,  nay,  even  as  demoralizing,  and  liable  to  great  ahuses." 
" Halt,  halt,  for  Heaven's  sake!1'  cried  the  General;  "those 
•who  tax  a  law  which  Jesus  Christ  himself  has  given  us  with 
ibeing  tyrannical,  gallinsr,  and  demoralizing,  are  rash  indeed, 
.and  should  tremble,  lest  they  may  incur  the  guilt  of  blasphemy/' 
"  Oh,  no,"  said  Mrs.  Sefton  earnestly ;  "  that  is  not — as  I  have 
•reason  to  suspect — i/our  objection  to  confession,  nor  that  of  any 
.  other  Protestant  who  professes  to  believe  in  the  divinity  of  Christ; 
•for  God  could  never  give  us  a  law  galling,  tyrannical  and  de- 
•moralizing;  rather  confess  candidly  that  it  is  the  humiliation 
and  ]>c.n  ;nc-:." 

"  Pray,  tell  me,  Doctor,"  interposed  the  General,  "  do  you 
ever  hear  the  confessions  of  your  parishioners'?'' 
"  Never,"  answered  the  Doctor  with  emphasis. 
"  Yet  it  is  prescribed  in  your  Common  Prayer-book,  in  the 
"Visit.'ition  of  the  Sick." 

"  That,"  said  the  Doctor,  "  is  quite  optional  to  the  sick  person 
'In  the  beginning  of  the  Reformation  it  was  necessary  to  quiet 
•the  scruples  of  the  people,  who  had  been  accustomed  to  it 
ujjtter  popery.  Now  the  people  know  better,  and  no  o::e  needs  it." 
"  Then  I  suppose,"  said  the  General,  with  a  malicious  smile, 
•'you  consider  the  Bishop  to  be  acting  a  notable  farce,  when  he 
,*ays  his  hands  on  your  head,  and  says, '  Whose  sins  you  shall 
'forgive,  they  are  forgiven  them,'  and  so  forth." 

"  Speak  more  reverently,  Sir,  if  you  please,"  exclaimed  the 
.Doctor;  "  these  an  the  words  of  Holy  Scripture." 


FATHER  OSWALD.  107 

"  And  most  irreverently  applied,  my  good  Doctor,  if  they 
mean  nothing." 

"They  have  their  meaning,"  responded  the  Doctor;  "but 
what  have  they  to  do  with  penance  1  there  is  no  such  word  in 
Scripture." 

"Ana  yet,  what  says  St.  John  the  Baptist  1  'Do  penance; 
for  the  kingdom  of  Heaven  is  at  hand,'  "*  added  the  General. 

"There  I  entirely  differ  from  you.  General  Russell,"  replied 
•he  Doctor  warmly;  ibr  the  Catholic  Bible  is  wrongly  transia- 
led,  as  in  this  instance;  instead  of  '  do  penance,1  the  Protestant 
Bible  translates  it,  ' repent'  from  the  Greek." 

"  But,  Doctor  Davison.  did  you  never  observe,"  said  Father 
Oswald,  "  that  the  English  Catholic  Bible  purports  to  be,  in  its 
title-page,  a  translation  of  the  Latin  Vulgate,  and  so  it  is  a  most 
faithful  one 7  Therefore,  'do  penance'  is  the  expression  of  the 
Vulgate :  now.  are  we  to  be  told  that  the  translators  of  the  Greek 
text  into  Latin,  so  many  hundred  years  ago,  did  not  understand 
the  meaning  of  the  Greek  word,  but  that  its  true  meaning  was 
reserved  for  the  sagacity  of  the  Protestant  sciolists  1  Shame  on 
them !  let  them  consult  the  Greek  Fathers ;  let  them  ask  the 
Greek  Christians  of  the  present  day,  how  they  understand  the 
word,  and  these  Protestant  qnibblers  will  find  that  the  Greeks 
agree  with  the  English  Catholic  version." 

~"Yes,"  added  the  General;  "for,  in  fact,  tc.  'do  penance,' 
implies  repentance,  and  something  more;  for,  nn  man  proceeds 
to  inflict  upon  himself  external  acts  of  penanre,  until  he  has 
acquired  an  internal  change  of  heart.  Penance  v/as  always 
hateful  to  Protestants,  who,  for  the  most  part,  walk  so,  that  we 
may  say  with  the  Apcstle,  '  that  they  are  enemies  of  the  Cross 
of  Christ;  whose  end  is  destruction,  whose  God  is  their  belly, 
and  whose  glory  is  in  their  shame ;  who  mind  earthly  things.'  "t 

"You  are  too  severe,  General,"  said  the  Doctor  reddening; 
"  Protestants,  I  can  tell  you,  see  no  religion  in  fasting,  mortifi- 
cations, and  penances;  more  especially  lasting  in  public  at 
stated  times;  fasting  as  commanded  by  the  Church,  or  exceed- 
ing what  the  Church  commands,  is  absolutely  contrary  to  Scrip- 
ture." 

"Oh!  yes,"  said  the  General,  laughing;  "it  is  very  natura. 
that  Protestants  should  see  no  religion  in  lasting,  mortifications, 
and  penan.ces.  They  have  inherited  the  dislike  to  such  things 
from  their  great  ancestor,  Martin  Luther,  the  profligacy  of  whose 
life  sufficiently  proves  his  abhorrence  of  such  uncom!ort;,ble 
practices;  he  was  wont  to  say,  'I  cannot  lx?ar  this  Jerome,  he 
is  perpetually  canting  about  fasting  and  continence.'  "; 
*  Matt.  iii.  2.  +  Phil,  iii  18  i  Serv.  Arb 


108  FATHER  OSWALD. 

"  Yes,"  said  the  Doctor,  "  Luther  had  seen  how  liable  such 
things  are  to  introduce  bad  consequences,  such  as  hypocrisy  and 
licentiousness,  particularly  among  the  Clergy,  so  lie  wisely  re- 
formed those  abuses." 

"  We  must  not  lay  aside  a  good  practice,  Doctor,  because  it 
maybe  abused;  otherwise,  we  should  be  reduced  to  various 
straits."  said  Father  Oswald;  "Catholics,  on  the  contrary, 
believing  that  '  Christ  also  suffered  for  us,  leaving  you  an  ex- 
ample, that  you  should  follow  His  steps,'*  and  knowing  that 
'Christ  did  not  please  Himself  ;'t  think  only  of  His  forty  days' 
fast, — His  vigils  by  night. — His  having  no  place  whereon  to 
lay  His  head, — His  humiliations, — His  sufferings,  as  so  Many 
striking  examples  given  to  his  followers,  which  at  a  great  dis- 
tance they  try  to  imitate ;  they  are  encouraged  in  their  efforts  by 
the  practice  of  the  Apostle,  who  says,  '  I  chastise  my  body,  and 
bring  it  into  subjection.1  "j 

"  But,"  said  Harriet,  "  has  not  Christ  reprobated  fasting,  when 
He  Bays, 'When  vou  fast,  be  not  as  the  hypocrites,  sad,  lev 
they  disfigure  their  laces,  that  they  may  appear  unto  men  tc 
fast.  But  thou,  when  thou  fastest,  anoint  thy  head,  and  wash 
thy  face'  ?"§ 

'"  What  a  singular  instance  of  Bible  reading  when  viewed 
through  a  pair  of  Protestant  spectacles  !"  said  the  General,  with 
surprise. 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,  Sir,"  said  Harriet,  colouring  and 
drawing  herself  up;  "  I  do  not  wear  spectacles, — at  least,  very, 
very  seldom,  and  that  only  when  I  am  doing  open  hem  by  can- 
dlelight." 

"Well,  my  dear  Miss  Sefton,  no  offence',"  said  the  General, 
in  an  apologetic  tone;  "however,  the  Doctor  does;  so  it  comes 
much  to  the  same  thing.  I  only  want  to  prove  to  yon,  that 
these  said  Prnb'stavt  spectacles  obscure  the  Bible  reader  in 
his  views  of  Scripture  truths  rather  than  aid  him  ;  for  if  you  had 
rend  another  verse,  you  would  have  found  these  words,  'and 
the  Father  will  repay  thee,'  so  that  you  see  there  is  some  profit 
.'n  fasting;  moreover,  by  the  same  reasoning,  it  follows  from 
the  context,  that  Christ  equally  reprobr.tes  prayer  and  almsilceds. 
Because  the  hypocrites,  you  tell  me,  'disfigure  their  faces,  that 
they  may  appear  unto  men  to  fast,  but  thou  when  thou  fastes! 
anoint  thy  head  an;]  wash  thy  face,'  therefore  there  is  no  religion 
in  fasting  and  corporal  pennnces.  Now,  listeti  to  the  parity  ot 
such  reasoning.  Because  the  hypocrites  love  to  stand  and  prav 
in  the  synagogues,  and  corners  of  the  streets,  therefore  there 
is  no  religion  in  frequenting  the  churches,  or  the  conventicle,  or 

*  1  Peter  ii.  21.        t  [loin.  iv.  3.        t  1  Cor.  ix.  27.        4  Matt,  vi  1C.  17 


FATHER  OSWALD.  I91) 

prnyer-meeting.  where  much  speaking  and  long-winded  orisons 
are  poured  forth.  Because  the  hypocrites  sound  a  trumpet 
Ixjfore  them  in  the  synagogues  and  in  the  streets,  therefore  there 
is  no  religion  in  the  jingle  and  glitter  of  coin  dropped  into  th-2 
open  plate  at  the  conventicle  door,  or  in  the  names  trumpeted 
in  the  subscription  lists  of  Bible  Societies,  Missionary  Societies, 
Reformation  Societies,  ct  cttzra,  ct  cetera.  Strange  Bible  com- 
mentators these!  Christ,  in  the  passage  you  have  jusi  mentioned, 
re-probates  equally  prayer,  fasting,  and  almsdeeds,  when  done 
through  a  motive  of  hypocrisy,  '  that  they  may  be  seen  by  men  ;' 
but  Ha  equally  commends  to  his  disciples,  and  enjoins  also, 
fasting,  as  well  as  prayer  and  almsdeeds,  when  done  for  the 
pure  ;;iid  sole  motive  of  pleasing  God." 

•'  Bless  me,  General !  what  a  rout  you  make  just  about  a  sim- 
ple, innocent  observation,"  exclaimed  Harriet  in  a  pet.  "  I 
a  1  ways  hated  controversy ;  I  never  could  endure  it ;  and  what 
unlucky  sprite  put  it  into  my  head  to  speak,  I  know  not.  But  I 
knew  something  vexatious  was  sure  to  happen,  when  you  were 
clumsy  enough  to  spill  that  nasty  salt  close  to  my  plate  at 
dinner." 

Emma  laughed  outright,  neither  could  Father  Oswald  keep 
his  countenance.  The  General  attempted  an  apology  for  his 
awkwardness,  but  the  Doctor,  with  much  gravity  said,  "No, 
Miss  Sefton,  it  was  neither  an  unlucky  sprite,  northespijlingof 
a  little  salt,  which  caused  you  to  speak  forth  in  the  good  cause 
of  truth,  and  to  exercise  your  right  reason  in  free  discussion. 
Whatever  Catholics  may  say,  I  maintain,  that  watching  and 
praying,  and  bearing  the  crosses  God  sends  us,  and  resisting 
our  inclinations,  when  contrary  to  our  obedience  to  God,  is  suf- 
ficient, without  mortifying  our  inclinations,  merely  because  they 
are  natural  inclinations." 

"  What !"  said  the  General,  with  unfeigned  surprise,  "  are 
watching,  and  prat/ir,  r.nd  bearing  crosses,  and  resisting  evil 
lrn.liiiai.inns,  any  ways  requisite  1  A  little  while  since  you  tolil 
us  all  this  was  perfectly  useless !  nay,  even  that  it  was  contrary 
'o  Holy  Scripture.  From  my  perusal  of  the  Bible,  particularly 
the  New  Testament,  I  have  interred  that  to  rex-id  the  evil  incli- 
nr.  lions  of  nature,  yes,  and  to  nub  due  them  too.  is  the  primary 
duty  of  every  Christian,  and  the  great  triumph  of  gn.ce  over 
corrupted  nature." 

"To  be  sure,"  said  the  Doctor,  ''there  can  be  little  douht  bin 
that  Christians  ought  to  try,  as  I  just  observed,  to  resist  their 
evil  inclinations;  but  God  knows  how  difficult  it  is,  and  almost 
impossible,  in  the  sense  in  which  you  Catholics  mean  it." 

''•  W*  kuow  very  well,"  replied  Father  Oswald,  "that  in  this 
ID* 


110  FATIJKR  OSWALD. 

warfare  of  the  flesh  against  the  spirit,  of  ourselves  MT.  ,'.an  da 
nothing,  but  with  the  grace  of  God  we  can  do  eveiy  auv-ft.  1 
say  we  can  do  nothing  by  our  own  unaided  strength,  but  (vilified 
by  llie  grace  of  Christ  we  can  do  much,  therefore  io>:  rtuifH  co- 
operate with  the  grace  of  God.  These  exertions  on  our  ysf\ 
are  of  two  sorts,  internal  and  external; — the  internal  consist  hi 
file  acts  of  the  free  will,  always  strengthened  by  divine  grace, 
ly  which  we  promptly  repress  the  first  rising  emotions  of  our 
passions,  and  these  I  am  willing  to  allow  are  the  more  penecl 
acts  of  virtue: — the  external  consist  in  the  mortification  of  Ihe 
senses,  and  sensible  pains  inflicted  on  the  body.  These  acts  6f 
themselves  are  of  no  avail,  unless  accompanied  by  the  internal 
acts  of  the  soul ;  but  so  accompanied,  they  are  powerful  to  sub- 
jugate the  passions,  and  render  '  the  members  as  instruments  ol 
justice  unto  God.'  "* 

"  Inflicting  pains  on  the  body  lo  make  nn  impression  on  the 
soul !"  said  Harriot  contemptuously;  "what  ridiculous  n^n^ense, 
and  how  perfectly  useless." 

':By  no  means  useless,"  continued  Father  Oswald  mildly,  "it 
is  very  salutary,  however  you  may  dislike  it;  for,  if  to  pamper 
the  body,  to  indulge  the  senses,  to  loll  in  ease  and  luxury,  ant! 
feast  sumptuously  every  day,  are  powerful  incentives  to  concu- 
piscence and  sin,  it  follows  of  necessity,  that  'to  crucify  the 
flesh,'  to  '  mortify  the  members,'  to  check  the  appetites,  to  watch, 
to  fast,  to  pray,  are  powerful  means  to  acquire  the  dominion  of 
the  spirit  over  the  body.  So  whosoever  does  these  tilings  with 
the  pure  motive  of  pleasing  Gocl,  does  works  highly  acceptable 
to  Him,  and  '  He  will  repay  him.'  There  is  another  motive  for 
external  mortification,  which  is,  '  to  do  penance  for  our  sins ;'  a 
still  more  sublime  motive,  which  has  animated  the  saints  to  the 
most  heroic  deeds  of  penance,  is  to  render  themselves  in  some 
sort '  conformable  to  the  image  of  His  Son.'t  But  these  r.re 
motives,"  added  the  Father,  sighing,  "  which  none  but  Catholics- 
can  understand." 

"Luckily  for  us,  we  cannot  understand  any  such  curious 
ideas,"  said  Harriet,  whose  horror  at  the  very  thought  of  the 
trouble  and  disagrceableness  of  doing  penance,  had  quite  rousrd 
her.  "  I  once  opened  a  book  I  found  on  Emma's  table,  cal.c-d, 
1  think,  'The  Lives  of  the  Saints.'  Well,  to  be  sure,  I  naver 
read  such  curious  things  in  my  life.  I  went  reading  and  reading 
en,  ibr  I  dare  say  a  couple  of  hours ;  it  really  quite  interested 
me:  Such  penances!  it  was  something  so  new  to  me.  Such 
accounts  of  hair  shirts,  and  disciplines,  and  spending  whole 
•hours  in  saying  their  prayers.  Oh  dear  me  !  I  could  not  help 
*  Horn  vi.  13  t  Horn,  viii  2'J 


PATH  EH  OSWALD.  111 

pitying  them,  and  feeling  sorry  they  had  given  themselves  such 
a  deal  of  useless  trouble,  to  say  the  least  of  it,  for  some  of  them 
must  have  been  quite  blinded  by  enthusiasm.  However,  I  sup- 
pose such  things  don't  take  place  no\v-a-days." 

"Indeed  they  do,"  said  Emma;  "Catholics  still — many  of 
them,  take  the  discipline,  wear  hair  shirts,  and  do  penances- 
and  as  to  the  saints,  they  need  not  your  pity,  but  ought  rather 
to  excite  your  emulation  ;  for  now  they  are  glorified  spirits  in 
Heaven,  reaping  the  rich  reward  of  their  penances  and  good 
works,  done  for  the  love  of  God  here  below." 

"Well,  I  cannot  envy  them  their  penances,"  said  Harriet, 
"  for  I  hope  to  gel  a  bed  in  Heaven  at  a  much  cheaper  rate :  I 
am  quite  satisfied  there  is  no  need  of  mortifications  to  subdue 
our  evil  inclinations,  the  guidance  of  the  soul  with  the  grace  of 
God  being  sufficient." 

"  St.  Paul,"  replied  Emma,  "  the  vessel  of  election,  had  surely 
the  guidance  of  the  soul ;  but,  perhaps  you  mean  conscience, 
by  this  strange  expression ;  and  St.  Paul  had  also  the  grace  of 
God,  yet  he  did  not  think  this  quite  sufficient  to  preserve  him 
from  reprobation;  for  he  says,  'but  I  clias'iK  my  bixh/,  and 
bring  it  into  subjection;  lest  perhaps,  when  I  have  preached  to 
others,  I  myself  should  become  a  castaway.'  "* 

Harriet  looked  a  little  uneasy,  but  said.  "  Well,  well,  Emma, 
you  will  see,  that  penance  can  do  nothing  for  us  at  the  hour  of 
death." 

"  It  is  quite  enough  for  us  if  it  can  do  something  for  us  before 
that  time,"  replied  Emma;  "few  think  of  doing  much  penance 
at  that  awful  moment.  It  is  enough  Ihf.n  for  the  pious  Christian 
to  bow  in  humble  submission  to  the  divine  will,  and  kiss  the 
hand  that  inflicts  the  greatest  chastisement  of  sin,  'for  by  sin 
death  entered  into  the  world.'  " 

"  You  have  thought  much  more  about  these  things  than  ( 
have,"  said  Harriet,  somewhat  pensively. 

"  There  is  but  one  thing  necessary,  dearest  Harriet,"  answer- 
ed Emma,  with  a  sigh. 

"  Come,  my  dear,  it  is  high  time  you  were  in  bed,"  said  the 
General,  looking  at  his  watch. 

"  Indeed  it  is,''  added  Father  Oswald,  "  so  God  bless  you,  my 
dear  Madam." 

"  HTVC  you  got  that  book  by  you,  Mrs.  Sefton,  which  Miss 
[Jurriet  was  just  now  mentioning  1"  said  Doctor  Davison ; 
— "  the  '  Lives  of  the  Saints,  I  think.  I  should  just  like  tn  vav« 
A  look  a.  it." 

*  1  Cor.  is.  27 


12  FATHER  OSWALD. 

"  It  is  in  the  library,  Sir;  it  belonged  lo  my  poor  father;  mj 
uncle  will  show  you  the  shell'  where  yon  can  find  it." 

"  Thank  you,  Madam,  and  good-night,"  replied  the  Doctor, 
following  General  Russell  into  the  library. 


CHAPTER    XIV. 

••  A  hideous  figure  of  their  foes  they  draw  : 

Nor  lines,  nor  looks,  nor  shades,  nor  colours  true  , 
And  this  grotesque  design  expose  lo  view, 
And  yet  tiie  dauonig  pleases  !" — PUYDF.N. 

"WELL,  Doctor  Davison,"  said  Mrs.  Sefton,  after  the  lime 
party  round  her  fire-side  had  finished  their  tea  the  following 
evening,  "  what  do  you  think  of  the  '  Lives  of  the  Stints,' 
which  you  asked  me  to  lend  you  last  night  1" 

"  Yes,"  said  Harriet  eagerly;  "what  do  you  think  of  them, 
Sir  1  did  I  not  say  truly  it  is  a  curious  production  ?" 

"Ladies,"  said  the  Doctor,  solemnly,  "my  opinion  of  ihe 
singular  work  I  have  been  perusing  this  rooming,  may  not  be 
agreeable  to  all  parties  here  present;  so  I  had  best,  I  think,  keep 
it  to  myself." 

"I  ihink  that  is  scarcely  fair  upon  us,  Sir,"  said  Harriet, 
somewhat  disappointed. 

"Fair!  no,  indeed  it  is  not  fair,"  said  the  General,  "come, 
Doctor,  out  with  it ;  we  shall  be  able  to  stand  the  shock,  I  dare 
say." 

"  Well,  then,"  answered  the  Doctor,  "  I  must  in  candour  own, 
that  there  are  many  very  interesting,  and  even  heroic  and  edi- 
(Ving  actions  related  of  these  pious  individuals  whom  you  call 
Saints:  but  there  are  many  things  mentioned  in  them,  which 
seem  to  me  so  enthusiastic  and  so  extraordinary,  that  I  can 
scarcely  believe  them:  indeed,  some  of  them,  I  think,  are  pr- 
lectly  incredible." 

"An  act  of  divine  faith  is  not  required  by  the  Church  from 
her  members  for  fill  the  actions  which  are  related  of  the  saints," 
said  Father  Oswald,  "  but  merely  a  human  faith,  such  as  we 
give  to  historical  facts,  when  founded  on  what  seems  lo  us  good 
and  unobjectionable  evidence  of  the  truth  of  what  we  read  there  ; 
but  I  think  from  what  you  say,  Sir,  you  are  altogether  pleased 
with  the  work  you  have  been  skimming  through  this  morning.1 


FATHKR  OSWALD.  113 

"  These  wer?  -:iy  first  impnssinns,  Sir,"  re;  .ied  the  Doctor, 
"  but  the  result  f.f  my  reflections  I  have  not  yet  told  you.'' 

"  Perhaps  you  will  favour  us  with  them,  Sir,"  said  Emma. 

"  They  mr.y  seem  strang'e  to  you,  Madam,  who  probably  have 
not  reflect'*!  much  on  the  subject;  but  to  me  it  seems  very  evi- 
dent thai  our  Saviour  being  a  complete  Saviour,  we  have  no 
business,  'J  add  any  of  our  imperfect  doings  to  that  all-peifect 
work:  v/c  must  trust  our  salvation  wholly  to  his  hands:  Jbr 
a! temp1  ing  to  help  ourselves  is  acting  as  fcols,  and  dishonouring 
Clirwt,  ibr  without  Him  we  can  do  nothing." 

"  *.'j  doubt,"  answered  Father  Oswald,  ''Christ  is  a  complete 
Saviour,  and  nothing  is  wanted  on  his  part  to  make  his  redemp- 
tion most  plenteous.  But/'  added  he,  "  is  nothing  wanted  on 
o'ir  part,  in  order  to  be  made  partakers  of  his  redemption  '?  did 
not  St.  Paul  say,  '  I  fill  up  those  things  that  are  wanting  of  the 
sufferings  of  Christ  in  my  flesh'  '?"* 

'•  Yes,  yes;  the  Doctor  has  only  put  the  thought  which  I  tried 
to  express  yesterday  in  a  clearer  point  of  view,"  exclaimed 
Harriet,  triumphantly,  '-namely,  that  at  the  hour  of  death, 
penances,  good  works,  and  piety  will  give  no  courage  to  meet 
our  Judge:  all  will  seem  a  covering  of  filthy  n-gs,  ;.-nd  the 
righteousness  of  Christ  alone  will  be  seen  to  have  wrought  the 
work  of  salvation." 

"Well,  Miss  Sefton,"  said  the  General  gravely,  "you  have 
certainly  chalked  out  for  yourself  a  much  easier  path  to  Heaver 
than  St.  Paul  seemed  to  think  advisable ;  beware  lest  you  may 
be  deceiving  yourself.  /  always  thought  that '  to  lay  up  trea- 
sures in  Heaven, 't  by  prayer,  fasting,  and  almsdeeds,  as  recom- 
mended by  Jesus  Christ,  himself  in  his  sermon  on  tin:  mount, 
would  give  some  secure  hope  to  a  poor  mortal,  when  on  the 
point  of  appearing  beibre  the  tribunal  of  the  just  Judge,  who 
will  take  special  account  of  such  good  works.  Why  !  does  not 
Jesus  promise  the  Kingdom  of  Heaven  as  a  reward  to  those 
vho  do  good  works ?  'For  I  WL-S  hungry  and  you  gave  me  to 
eat,  ct  cetera.';  Alas !  this  vehement  spite  of  evangelicals 
against  good  works  shows  too  clearly  whence  they  all  spring" 

'•'•  I  am  not  an  evangelical,  General  Russell,  I  would  have  you 
to  know,"  retorted  Harriet. 

"  You  know  best  what  you  are,  my  dear  lady,"  replied  the 
General ;  "you  express  their  sentiments  however." 

"Nevertheless,  the  sentiments  are  good  sentiments,"  inter- 
posed the  Doctor,  "  and  sound  doctrine  too;  for  when  the  day 
of  eternity  comes,  we  shall  see  the  vanity  of  such  iriiles  as 
mortifications,  penances,  and  watch  ings;  and  we  shall  require 
«  C.il.  i  21.  *  Matt.  v\20.  t  Matt.  »xv.  35. 


J  14  FATHER  OSWALD. 

forgiveness  for  attempting  to  add  such  rubbish  to  niaks  more 
per. cot  the  finished:  work  of  the  Son  of  Gocl ;  ibr  these  said  good, 
works, — fasts,  mortifications,  penances,  and  prayers,  are  of  DO 
merit  nor  use ;  there  is  no  favour  to  5e  expected  from  God,  nor 
increase  of  grace  gained,  nor  help  towards  Heaven  acquired  by 
them,  but  by  the  sole  merits  of  Christ,  who  has  merited  ant! 
done  all  for  us.1' 

"I  can  see  no  inference  to  be  drawn  from  this,"  said  the 
General :  "  that  as  Christ  has  merited  and  done  all  for  us,  we 
have  nothing  to  do  ourselves!  It'  it  be  so,  why  keep  the  people 
in  ignorance  1  Why  not  preach  a  farewell  sermon  to  them,  and 
speak  to  them  openly  at  once,  somewhat  in  this  style? — 'My 
dearly  beloved  brethren,  I  am  come  to  announce  to  you  this 
morning  tidings  of  great  joy  :  the  Salvation  of  Israel  is  come : 
he  has  made  wide  the  narrow  gate,  he  has  opened  broad  the 
strait  way :  enter  ye  in  at  the  widened  portal ;  you  are  no  longer 
to  labour,  and  be  barthened:  for  Christ  hath  refreshed  you  ;  he 
has  washed  you  from  all  your  iniquities,  he  has  cleansed  you 
from  all  your  sins.  Rejoice  always  in  the  Lord;  I  say  again, 
rejoice.  Eat,  drink,  and  be  merry;  above  all  things,  never 
mortify  your  members,  with  their  vices  and  concupiscences :  it 
is  all  to  no  purpose  :  you  are  only  covering  yourself  with  filthy 
rags;  never  presume  to  add  such  rubbish  to  make  perfect  the 
finished  work  of  the  Son  of  God.  Christ  has  done  all  for  you ; 
to  think  the  contrary  is  a  vile  popish  superstition  :  for  the  Papists, 
poor  fools,  think  there  is  something  '  wanting  in  the  sufferings 
of  Christ,1  which  they  fondly  imagine  they  can  fill  up  in  their 
own  flesh  ;  nothing  can  be  more  opposed  to  the  Scriptural  scheme 
of  man's  redemption.  How  much  more  comfortable  it  is  to 
know  and  to  J'eel  assured,  that  our  salvation  is  finished  !  We 
have  got  above  all  law  ;  we  have  attained  Christian  liberty :  sin 
and  death  have  lost  all  dominion  over  us,  and  therefore  it  is 
quite  useless  trouble  in  us  to  pray  and  to  preach  ;  let  us  shut 
up  our  churches,  or  rather  let  us  clear  away  these  lumbering 
benches ;  turn  the  building  into  a  ball-room,  and  call  in  the  pipe 
and  tabor.  As  for  me,  I  never  intend  to  preach  again  :  for  that 
is  quite  useless ;  you  all  have  the  Bible,  and  you  can  read  it,  it 
you  like,  from  beginning  to  end  :  you  will  find  my  doctrine  true. 
But  as  some  men  of  gloomy  dispositions  may  easily  mistake 
certain  obscure  passages  of  the  Bible,  which  the  Pr.pists  an? 
continually  putting  forth  against  the  clearest  evidence,  thi.t  Christ 
has  done  every  thing  (or  us;  what  say  ye,  my  beloved  breihren, 
o  our  burning  the  Bibles  altogether  in  a  heap,  and  hencefor- 
ward parsing  our  days  in  pleasure  and  jollity  !  for,  truly,  there 
can  be  little  use  in  reading  the  Bible,  which  cannot  hnlo  us  one 


FATHER  OSWALD.  1 15 

#tep  towards  Heaven,  seeing  that  Christ  having  done  every 
tiling  for  us.  we  hare  no  need  to  do  any  thing  for  oursel /es; 
rejoice,  therefore,  my  brethren ;  rejoice  always  in  the  Lord  , 
again  I  say,  rejoice.'  " 

"  Really  you  are  a  great  deal  too  bad,  General  Russell/'  said 
Doctor  Davison  very  indignantly;  "ridicule  is  no  argument." 

'•  But  it  sets  things  in  a  clear  point  of  view  sometimes,"  an- 
swered the  General  good-hnmou redly ;  "  however,  to  be  serious 
in  answer  to  what  you  assert,  namely,  that  by  good  works  and 
penance  we  try  to  become  our  own  Saviour,  I  must,  in  the  first 
place,  assure  you,  that  no  Catholic  tries  to  become  his  own 
Saviour;  1'or  he  knows,  as  well  as  any  Biblical  can  tell  him, 
that  Jesus  is  the  only  Saviour,  'Neither  is  there  salvation  in 
any  other.  For  there  is  no  other  name  under  Heaven  given 
to  man,  whereby  we  must  be  saved.'*  In  the  second  place,  he 
knows  also, — ;md  better  it  seems  than  Biblicals  know, — that  he 
cannot  arrive  at  salvation  but  by  the  narrow  path  which  Christ 
has  pointed  out  to  him.  Good  God !  one  would  think  that  the 
Calvinistical  Bible  readers  had  never  opened  the  first  pages  of 
the  Gospel,  when  they  raise  their  voices  against  good  works." 

i;  Indeed  one  would,"  said  Father  Oswald,  shaking  his  head; 
"  yet,  what  can  they  make  of  the  sermon  on  the  mount  1  it  is 
but  an  exhortation  to  the  practice  of  every  species  of  good  works : 
prayer,  /asting,  almsdeeds,  patience,  humility,  sell-mortification, 
etcetera;  and,  though  Jesus  reprobates  the  hypocrisy  of  those 
who  seek  the  applause  of  men,  yet  he  tells  his  disciples,  '  So  let 
your  light  shine  before  men,  that  they  may  see  your  good  tcorks, 
and  glorify  your  Father  who  is  in  Heaven.'  "t 

"That  is  rather  strong,  ro  be  sure,"  said  Hairiet,  looking 
fidgetty. 

"Then,  again,"  continued  Father  Oswald,  " there  is  not  an 
epistle  of  the  Apostle,  in  which  he  does  not  exhort  the  faithful 
to  the  practice  of  good  works,  springing  out  of  faith,  and  the 
grace  of  our  Lord  Jesus  Christ.  The  whole  of  St.  James's 
epistle  is  written  to  prove  their  necessity.  Hence,  the  solicitude 
of  Catholics  to  abound  in  them  ;  for  they  are  taught,  and  they 
know  'that  Christ  gave  Himself  for  us,  that  he  might  redeem 
us  from  all  iniquity,  and  might  cleanse  us  to  Himself  a  people 
acceptable,  a  pursuer  <>J  good  irorkf.'i  '  It  is  a  faithful  saying 
and  these  things  I  will  have  thce  affirm  constantly  ;  that  they 
who  believe  in  God,  may  be  careful  to  excel  in  good  works. 
These  things  are  good  and  profitable  unto  men  ;'§  and  again,  in 
writing  to  the  Corinthians,  the  Apostle  continues,  'Now,  this  1 

*  Acts  \v.  12.  t  Matt.  v.  16. 

t  Tit.  ii.  14.  4  Tit.  iii.  8. 


lib  FATHE'.l  OSWAL.U. 

say  :  he  wno  sowcth  sparing;!}',  shall  also  reap  sparingly;  antf 
lie  who  soweth  in  blessings,  shall  also  reap  o!'  blessings;  an<! 
God  is  able  to  make  all  grace  abound  in  you;  that  ye  always 
having  all  sufficiency  in  all  things,  may  abound  to  every  gaod 
work.',  "* 

"  Bless  me,  Sir  !"  interrupted  Harriet,  "  you  have  given  us 
texts  enough  to  make  one  uncomfortable  for  a  rnon:h  ;  1  am  sure 
I  do  not  remember  to  have  seen  one  of  them  in  the  Scripture." 

''Nevertheless,  they  may  all  be  (bund  there.  Miss  Sefton.'' 
said  Father  Oswald  smiling;  "now,  Catholics  knowing  all 
this,  and  much  more  lo  the  same  purpose,  '  we  labour  the  more, 
that  bv  good  works  we  may  make  our  calling  and  election  sure ;'? 
for,  as  Christ  says,  Gocl  will  '  render  to  every  man  according  ic 
his  works.'  "j 

"You  speak  very  strongly,  Sir,"  said  the  Doctor,  "  but  you 
are  not  aware,  perhaps,  that  Calvinists  judge  more  of  the  state 
of  their  souls  before  God  by  their  feelings,  than  by  their  works; 
.still  they  attain  to  a  high  degree  of  perfection  in  works:  we 
must  be  born  again  before  we  can  see  the  Kingdom  of  G'o<l,  or 
make  any  exertion  to  please  Him;  therefr-e  we  must  try  our 
characters  by  the  dnc  given  in  the  Bible,  of  those  born  of  the 
Spirit, ;  if  we  possess  the  fruits  of  the  Spirit,!  we  have  the 
only  evidence  we  can  have,  that  we  belong  to  Christ.  The 
works,  therefore,  a  Calvinist  requires  to  prove  he  is  even  in  the 
path  of  safety,  are  more  pure  and  spiritual  than  those  which 
Catholics  and  ignorant  Protestants  regard  as  sufficient  to  justify 
them  in  the  sight  of  God." 

"  Bless  me,  Doctor  !"  said  the  General,  "  I  never  knew  you 
were  a  Calvinist  before!" 

"Neither  am  I,  Sir,"  answered  the  Doctor,  gruffly;  "but 
after  I  had  finished  my  course  of  divinity  at  Oxford,  I  travelled 
for  a  couple  of  years  with  a  young  nobleman:  we  spent  much 
of  our  time  at  Geneva,  and  I  made  acquaintance  with  some  of 
the  leading  Calvinistical  divines  there  :  I  imbibed  many  of  tiieir 
opinions,  to  which  I  ara  still  in  a  great  degree  inclined.  thn::gh 
I  acknowledge  that  you  might  live  with  me  long  before  yon 
made  the  discovery,  on  account  of  my  endeavouring,  as  St.  Pan.1 
says,  '  to  make  myself  constantly  all  to  all.'  " 

"  Humph  !"  said  the  General  slowly,  and  taking  a  very  large 
pinch  of  snuff. 

"  That  is  no  answer  to  my  difficulty,  Sir,"  said  the  Doctor, 
rather  impatiently. 

"All  in  good  time,  Doctor,"  said  the  General,  deliberately 

*  2  Cor.  ix.  0.  S.  t  2  Peter  i.  10. 

t  Matt   xvi  27.  4  Ral.  v.  22 


FATIIEK  OSWALD  11* 

finishing  his  pinch  of  snuff.  "You  state,  I  think,  that  Calvinists, 
judge  more  of  the  state  of  their  souls  before  God,  by  their  feel- 
ings than  by  their  works;  now.  I  answer,  that  I  conceive/ el- 
ing  to  he  a  very  uncertain  and  delusive  criterion  of  truth.  Our 
(eel ings  are  often  too  apt  to  warp  our  judgment.  The  wild  (ana 
tic, — and  in  this  land  of  Bibles,  every  day  some  new  one  starts 
up, — fcc-'s  himself  called  by  Gcd  to  promulgate  to  the  gaping 
multitude  his  crude  conceits  F.S  the  Gospel  of  the  Redeemer :  the 
deluded  enthusia-st/ep/x  himself  overwhelmed  at  once  by  a  wring 
assunnir.e.  The  proud  Pharisees  judged  by  their  feelings,  to 
whom  Christ  said.  '  You  arc  they  who  justify  themselves  before 
men;  but  Go.f  knoweth  your  hearts:  for  that  which  is  high  to 
men.  is  an  abomination  before  God.'  "* 

"  Yes,"  said  Emma ;  "and  I  think  St.  Paul  did  not  judge 
himself  by  \\\s  fediwa,  when  he  says.  '7am  not  conscious  to 
myself  of  any  thing,  yet  I  am  not  hereby  justified ;  but  he  that 
judges  me  is  the  Lord.'  "t 

"  Believe  me,  Sir,"  said  Father  Oswald,  "  a  much  safer  and 
bet'er  criterion  is  to  judge  ourselves  by  our  works;  it  is  the  rule 
laid  down  by  Jesus  Christ  himself:  '  A  good  tree  cannot  bring 
forth  evil  fruit,  neither  can  an  evil  tree  bring  forth  good  fruit 
Every  tree  that  bringeth  not  forth  good  fruit,  shall  be  cut  down 
and  shall  he  cast  into  the  fire;  wherefore  by  their  fruits  ye  shall 
know  them.'t  According  to  this  rule,  no  man,  Protestant  or 
Catholic,  can  appeal  to  '  the  fruits  of  the  Spirit  until  he  has 
purged  his  soul  irom  all  the  works  of  the  flesh;  for  a  bad  tree 
cannot  bring  forth  good  fruits .'  This  is  the  natural  order  of 
proceeding.  St.  Paul  observes  this  order:  'Now  the  works  of 
ihe  flesh  are  manifest. '§  and  I  need  not  enumerate  them.  I  shall 
only  recommend  to  the  special  consideration  of  the  Bible  reader, 
the  one  of  A  r.'s//  ,•  for  that  is  reckoned  amongst  the  works  of  the 
flesh,  and  with  good  reason,  heresy  having  always  sprung  from 
men,  whose  minds  were  darkened,  and  hearts  corrupted  by  the 
grossest  works  of  the  flesh.  Now,  as  long  as  a  man  is  involved 
in  heresy,  that  is,  in  an  obstinate  error  against  faith,  '  he  shall 
not  obtain  the  Kingdom  of  God,'  however  much  he  may  boast 
10  me  of  the  fruits  of  the  Spirit." 

"  Then  what  is  meant  by  the  expression,  '  To  be  born  of  the 
Spirit'  V  said  Harriet,  petulantly. 

'•  To  be  born  of  the  Spirit,"  replied  Father  Oswald,  "signifiei 
to  receive  a  new  life  of  grace  either  by  baptism  or  penance. 
Does  not  Christ  say,  '  Unless  a  man  be  born  again  of  water  and 
the  Holy  Ghost,  he  cannot  enter  into  the  kingdom  of  God'  !"\\ 

"  Luke  xvi.  15.  i  1  Cor.  iv.  4.  i  Matt.  vii.  1«,  19,  20 

t  Gal.  v   19,20  I  John  ill.  3 


I  [8  FATHER  OSWALD. 

"  You  are  pleased  to  lie  severe,  Sir,"  said  the  Doctor,  waving 
his  hand  :  "  but  the  Bible  teaches,  the  faith  that  unites  the  soul 
to  Christ  and  justifies,  necessarily  receives  from  that  union  His 
Spirit  to  produce  that  new  heart,  whose  nature  it  is  to  bring  fcrth 
good  works;  but  the  Church  of  Rome  con  founds  the  faith  which 
justifies  with  its  effects,  and  teaches  that  in  addition  to  resting 
your  faith  on  Christ's  finished  work  of  salvation,  you  must  do 
so  and  so  yourself; — all  unscriptural  doctrines  of  the  Church  of 
Rom?." 

11  The  Catholic  Church,"  replied  Father  Oswald,  "teaches 
lhat  the  ground  of  all  justification  is  faith  in  Christ  and  in  all 
his  doctrines,  without  which  all  justification*  is  impossible,  and 
that  all  good  works  spring  from  the  grace  of  God,  which  is  in- 
fused into  our  souls.  She  teaches,  moreover,  that  grace  will 
not  proluce  its  effects  without  the  consent  and  co-operation  of 
the  free  will  of  man." 

"  Prove  your  words,  Sir,  if  you  please,"  interrupted  the  Doctor. 

"  Why.  Sir,"  continued  Father  Oswald,  "  is  not  the  Scripture 
full  o!'  exhortations  to  men  'to  hear  his  voice  and  harden  not 
their  hearts?'  Does  not  Christ  lay  it  clown  as  a  distinguishing 
mark  of  his  sheep, 'that  they  follow  him,  because  they  know 
his  vo;ce  Tt  Read  the  tender  lament  of  Jesus  over  the  obstinate 
city  of  Jerusalem.!  Hence,  'many  are  called,'  but,  because 
many  resist  the  motions  of  grace  within  their  souls,  'few  are 
chosen.'  " 

"  What,  then,  can  be  the  meaning  of  justifying  grace  ';"  said 
Harriet  with  a  sort  ot  half  groan. 

"  Vocation  to  the  true  fnik  is  the  first  great  gift,  or  grace  of 
God  ;  but  man  is  not  thereby  justified,"  replied  Father  Oswald  ; 
"  faith  alone,  though  it  were  great  enough  to  move  mountains, 
will  never  justify  a  man.  Man  is  justified  by  the  grace  of  God 
alone,  poured  into  his  soul  through  the  channels  of  the  sacra- 
ments ;  though  the  man  without  faith  cannot  receive  justifying 
grace." 

"  Oh  me !  how  very  puzzling,"  said  Harriet ;  i:  I  am  sure  I 
shall  never  understand  it." 

"  Have  a  little  patience,"  said  the  Father  quietly ;  "there  is 
no  confusion  of  ideas  in  the  exposition  I  have  just  given;  no 

*  The  reader  should  peruse  on  this  subject — so  much  obscured  and  per- 
verted by  the  Reformers  of  the  Ifith  century — the  very  lucid  and  satis- 
factory explanation  of  the  Catholic  doctrine  of  Justification,  contained  in 
the  masterly  ';  Introduction,"  by  the  Right  Reverend  John  Hughes,  D.  JX» 
Bishop  of  New  York  ;  prefixed  to  a  work  called  Catholic  Imputation, 
written  since  hi<  conversion  to  the  One  True  Church,  by  Vnnhrusjh  l.iv- 
ingstoti.  Esq.  ;  formerly  a  Protestant  of  th"3  Episcopal  Church  of  t.V 
United  States  —New  York  :  Casserly  &  Sons. 

t  lohn  x  4.  t  Malt,  xxiii.  37 


FATHER  OSWALD.  119 

confusion  of  cause  with  effects;  the  grace  of  God  is  the  pn- 
mary  cause  of  faith,  justification,  and  woodworks;  but  the  grace 
of  God  would  remain  without  effect,  if  man  refused  his  assent ; 
hence  the  Apostle  says,  'And  we  helping  do  exhort  you,  that 
vou  receive  not  the  grace  of  God  in  vain.'*  Christ  is  the  vine- 
stock  which  supplies  all  the  sap  and  vigour  to  the  blanches,  and 
enables  them  to  produce  the  good  fruit.  This  doctrine,  so  far 
from  detracting  from  the  perfect  redemption  of  Christ,  greatly 
enhances  it;  for  Christ  our  Head  still  continues  to  merit  in  his 
members,  and  will  one  day,  as  St.  Austin  lias  it,  'crown  in  us 
his  own  gifts.'  " 

Father  Oswald  paused, 

"You  have  certainly  explained  it  very  clearly,"  said  Harriet; 
"  even  I,  who  am  but  dull  at  these  matters,  can  understand  it." 

"  The  fundamental  error  of  the  Protestant  system  of  justifi- 
cation," said  Father  Oswald,  " consists  in  conceiving  that  the 
stain  of  original  and  actual  sin  remains  indelible  on  the  soul  of 
fallen  man,  and  that  man  is  justified  by  the  righteousness  of 
Christ,  covering  over,  as  with  a  garment,  not  obliterating,  the 
odious  stain.  It  follows  of  course,  on  this  system,  that  the  best 
works  of  inan  are  vitiated  by  the  original  canker  of  his  soul  ; 
and  it  would  be  difficult  to  assign  a  moral  difference  between 
the  faith  of  Peter  and  the  treachery  of  Judas;  hence  you  are 
led  to  question  the  efficacy  of  the  sacraments.  Truly  it  is  this 
system  which  lessens,  if  it  does  not  subvert,  the  perfect  redemp- 
tion of  Jesus  Christ." 

"  Allow  me  to  ask,  Sir,  what  is  the  Catholic  belief  on  this  very 
intricate  subject  1"  said  the  Doctor  somewhat  brusquely. 

"We  hold  with  St.  John,"  replied  Father  Oswald,  "'that '  the 
blood  of  Jesus  Christ  cleanxclk  us  from  all  szw.'t  And  with  St. 
Peter,  '  Repent,  therefore,  and  be  converted,  that  your  sins  may 
be  blotted  oul.'i  And  with  Ananias,  who  said  to  St.  Paul,  '  Rise 
up  and  be  baptized,  and  wash  away  thy  sins.'l  '  To  cleanse,'  to 
'  blot  out,'  to  '  wash  away,'  and  many  similar  expressions  in  Holy 
Scripture,  convey  to  the  Catholic  mind  the  idea  cf  a  perfect  pur- 
gation and  abolition  of  the  stain  of  sin.  Nor  can  we  conceive 
how  the  guilt  of  sin,  as  long  as  it  exists,  can  be  concealed  from 
the  penetrating  eye  of  God ;  nor  how  the  soul,  marked  with 
Ihe  plague-spot  of  sin,  can  be  just,  holy,  and  acceptable  to  God. 
Hence^  we  believe  in  the  cflicscy  of  the  sacraments  of  baptism 
and  penance,  as  the  channels  instituted  by  Christ  to  convey  his 
•Justifying  grace  to  our  souls :  thus  being  cleansed  by  the  opera- 
tion of  sacraments,  and  sanctified  by  '  the  charity  of  God  poured 
li)r!h  in  our  hearts.'ll  we  are  considered  capable  of  producing 

*  2  Cor.  vi.  1.  t  i  Jolm  i.  7.  t  Acts  iii.  i9. 

4  Acts  xxii  16  II  Rom.  v.  5. 


IVU  .  FATHER  OSWALD. 

holy  and  meritorious  works;  and  this  indeed  peaces  the  perfec- 
tion of  redemption  in  its  brightest  light." 

"  I  think  I  have  understood  all  you  have  said,"  added  Harriet 
thoughtfully 

"  But  what  shall  I  say,"  continued  the  Father,  "  of  the  con- 
tradictions and  confusion  of  ideas  in  the  heads  of  these  Evan- 
gelicals 1  They  tell  me  that '  faith  alone  justifies  me.'  13u? 
this  faith  in  Christ,  this  believing  in  Christ,  is  an  act  of  my  own 
soul." 

"  To  be  sure,  Sir,  to  besure,  Sir;  it  is  an  act  of  each  individ- 
ual soul,"  said  Doctor  Davison  eagerly 

"  But  how  is  that  act  excited  and  produced  in  the  soul  ?"  said 
Father  Oswald.  i;  Is  it  by  my  own  exertions  solely,  or  by  the  co- 
operation of  my  soul  with  the  grace  of  God ;  or  by  the  grace  of 
God  solely  1  If  you  answer,  by  my  own  exertions  solely,  then 
1  become-my  own  saviour;  if  by  the  grace  of  God  solely,  then 
't  is  the  grace  of  God,  and  not  faith,  that  justifies;  and  as  I  can 
Jo  nothing  of  myself,  it  is  useless  to  make  any  exertion,  it  is  in 
vain  tor  you  to  exhort;  I  have  nothing  more  to  do  than  to  sit 
doivn  quietly,  and  enjoy  myself,  until  it  shall  please  the  Almighty 
to  send  me  down  this  saving  assurance.  If  you  answer,  by  the 
co-operation  of  my  soul  with  the  grace  of  God,  why  then  you 
become  Catholics." 

"  But,  my  good  Sir,"  persisted  the  Doctor,  "  we  cannot  meril 
grace,  we  cannot  merit  grace.  No  exertions  on  our  part  can 
nave  the  slightest  efficacy  in  justifying  our  souls  before  God. 
A  perfect  righteousness  only  can  justii'y ;  ours  is  never  perfect ; 
thereibre  it  is  on  the  perfect  righteousness  of  Christ  that  we  can 
rest  our  hopes  of  justification." 

" Grace,"  replied  Father  Oswald,  "is  no  doubt  a  gratuitous 
gift  of  God,  noways  due  to  any  preceding  works.  '  If  by  grace, 
it  is  not  now  by  works;  otherwise  grace  is  no  more  grace.'* 
Though  no  man  can  merit  the  grace  of  justification  by  his  own 
works,  Christ  has  merited  it  for  all  men,  'For  all  have  sinned, 
and  do  need  the  glory  of  God,  being  justified  freely  by  His  grace, 
through  the  redemption  that  is  in  Christ  Jesus.'t  God.  through 
the  merits  of  Jesus  Christ,  gives  to  all  men  sufficient  grace  to 
bring  them,  if  they  reject  not  the  grace,  '  to  the  knowledge  ol 
the  truth,'  and  to  justification  by  faith  and  baptism." 

"  How  very  beautiful  the  Catholic  doctrine  is  on  this  subject," 
exclaimed  Emma. 

"  When  once  justified,"  continued  the  Father,  "  that  is,  brought 
into  the  state  of  habitual  grace,  they  still  need  the  influx  of  ac- 
vual  grace  to  excite  them,  and  help  them  to  the  performance  ot 
*  Horn  »i.  (5.  tRooi.iii.2J. 


FATHER  OSWALD.  121 

good  wti\s,  '  For  ii  is  God  who  worketh  both  to  will  and  to  ac- 
complish.. VLuruinjT  to  His  good  will.'*  The  good  works  now 
i'.one  in  IV.  s'Ktt'  of  grace  are  meritorious,  as  proceeding  from 
the  fructifying  grace  of  Jesus  Christ ;  and  merit  an  increase  of 
grace  in  this  world,  and  a  crown  of  glory  in  the  next.  But  if 
by  mortal  sin  a  man  tails  from  the  state  oi'  grace,  all  his  works 
aie  again  dead,  and  he  again  stands  in  need  of  a  gratuitous  help 
from  God,  to  bring  him  to  repentance  " 

"If  the  sinners1  justification,"  said  the  Doctor,  "  depends  on 
their  having  been  found  to  obey  any  law,  then  they  have  saved 
themselves;  •'  but  if  Christ  is  their  Saviour,  then  He  must  be  a 
complete  Saviour.  If  a  person  ventures  to  the  judgment-seat  to 
be  judged  by  the  pure  law  of  Christ,  he  mm;/  perish.  If  we  be- 
lieve in  Christ  :or  our  justification,  then  we  are  dead  to  the  law, 
as  He  has  obeyed  it  ibr  us,  and  we  are  all  complete  in  Him." 

"Bravo!  bravissimo!"  exclaimed  ihe  General,  rubbing  his 
hands;  "  here  is,  indeed,  a  glorious  emancipation  from  all  law! 
just  what  I  said  in  my  sermon.  I  knew  I  was  preaching  the 
right  doctrine,  to  say  nothing  of  the  pure  law  of  Christ ;  tor  if 
we  presume  to  observe  thnl,  we -are  jusi  told  we  must  all  perish. 
Yet  I  thought  at  least  the  ten  commandments  were  obligatory  on 
all  men.  even  Evangelicals.  But,  no  ;  I  have  quite  mistaken  the 
whole  Gospel,  and  God's  perfect  method  of  saving  souls.  The 
next  new  edition  of  the  Bible  will  require  many  corrections;  but 
I  particularly  recommend  to  the  care  of  the  printer's  devil,  to 
put  in  the  little  word  not,  where  any  thing  good  is  commanded, 
and  to  leave  it  out,  where  any  thing  evil  is  prohibited.  By  ob- 
serving this  rule,  he  will  hardly  add  or  take  away  a  single  iota 
from  the  Word  of  God.  It  will  then  be  very  pleasant  to  read: 
'Thou  shall  kill.  Thou  shall  commit  adultery.  Thou  shall 
steal.'  Or  more  compendiously,  '  If  thou  wilt  enter  into  life, 
ieep  not  the  commandments.'  " 

"  Really,  General  Russell,  your  boisterous  sallies  carry  you 
Beyond  all  bounds  of  discretion,"  interrupted  the  Doctor  warmly ; 
''it's  too  bad  to  speak  of  such  serious  matters  in  so  light  and 
absurd  a  tone/' 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,  my  good  friend,"  replied  the  General : 
"  I  have  said  nothing  hall'  so  absurd  as  your  propositions.  I 
have  only  said  what  I  could  in  my  poor  way,  to  show  you  the 
fatal  consequences  of  the  said  ibolish  propositions." 

"  Yes,"  said  Faiher  Oswald  /irmly;  "  it  is  from  these  misun- 

derstoic!  ideas  of  justification  and'  predestination,   that  have 

flowed  the  rnosi  dreadful  crimes  which  have  disgraced  human 

nature.     "Who  can  recount  the  wild  eiithusk.sm,the  desponding 

*  Phil  i:.  12 


122  FATHER  OSWALD. 

insanity,  the  fearful  despair,  the  dreadful  suicides,  of  which  they 
have  been  the  teeming  parents'?  Happy  are  those,  who  roposfl 
in  the  bosom  of  the  true  Church,  and  are  content  to  work  ou 
thair  salvation  with  '  fear  and  trembling.'  " 

"  '  No  more  ;— where  ignorance  is  bliss, 
'Tis  folly  to  bo  wise  '.'  " 

exclaimed  Harriet:  "I  always  thought  that  good  works  Tens 
not  available  in  obtaining  salvation,  andthat  /«<7Ain  Christ  was 
sufficient  to  save  the  soul ;  this  is  what  I  call  comfortable  doc- 
trine; and  now  you  Catholics  tell  me  this  is  an  error,  in  con- 
tradiction to  St.  Paul's  plainest  declaration,  \ha\f<tti/i  in  Christ 
alone  is  sufficient." 

•'  St.  Paul  nowhere  says,"  replied  the  General,  that  "  faith  in 
Christ  alone  is  sufficient  to  save  us.  Martin  Luther,  indeed, 
the  fifth  Evangelist  of  Wirtemberg,  says  so  in  his  German 
Bib!e.  Of  course  he  knew  oetter  than  St.  Paul !" 

"And,"  added  Father  Oswald,  "what  says  St  .lames'? 
"What  shall  it  profit,  my  brethren  if  a  man  say  he  hath  faith, 
but  hath  not  works  1  shall  faith  be  able  to  save  him  1'  '"* 

"  And.,  oh  !  dearest  Harriet,"  sa  id  Emma  very  earnestly,  "  do 
not  say  it  is  bliss  to  be  ignorant  of  the  only  one  thing  necessary 
for  you;  do  not  wilfully  shut  your  eyes  to  the  lij.-hl  of  divine 
grace,  which  is  now  beaming  around  you.  Follow  it  steadily; 
it  will  conduct  you  to  the  true  Church,  out  of  which  then;  is  no 
salvation  for  the  wilful  heretic.  Alas!  if  you  leiec.'  the  grace 
now  offered  you,  you  may  rue  it  for  a  long,  long  e'crniiy  of  woe." 

"  Dear  Emma,"  said  Harriet,  "  if  I  really  tho^ht  tnat  would 
be  the  certain  consequence,  I  would  give  myself  a  little  troublf 
about  it;  but  you  may  depend  upon  it,  all  real  Christians  differ 
inerely  in  words." 

"  Catholics  of  course  are  excluded,"  said  the  General,  smiling, 
"from  the  denomination  of  real  Christians;  and  if  I  do  not 
much  mistake,  Biblicals  alone  are  comprehended.  Now,  as 
these  nil  agree  in  Lh".  words  of  Hoi}"  Scripture,  while  each  one 
has  the  high  privilege  of  understanding  them  as  he  pleases, 
there  can  be  no  difference  amongst  them  inwards  merely;  bu'. 
if  '  contentions,  quarrels,  dissensions,'  and  other  works  of  the 
flesh,  rise  amongst  them,  it  must  be  about  the  tiling  $  signified 
by  the  words." 

"  Well,"  said  Harriet  thoughtfully,  "  I  was  born  and  bred  in 
the  Protestant  Church  to  be  sure,  arid  I  never  have  thought  very 
much  about  the  matter ;  but  sometimes  it  has  come  into  my 

*  James  li.  14. 


FATHER  OSWALD.  123 

Read,  that  all  our  ancestors, — and  we  have  had  a  good  long  pedi- 
gree,— were  Catholics.  They  never  changed  before  two  or  three 
hundred  years  ago;  but  now  it  is  another  story:  there  are  very 
J'e\v  Catholics,  I  believe,  in  Britain,  in  proportion  to  the  number 
ot  Protestants  and  Dissenters,  there  must  be  some  reason.' lot 
that." 

"  To  be  sure,"  said  the  General,  "  there  is  a  very  good  reason 
for  it ;  because  they  like  the  broad  and  flowery  road  thatleadeth 
to  destruction,  and  not  the  '  narrow  path,'  which  the  Lord  Jesus 
tells  us,  leads  to  life.  But  with  regard  to  the  number  of  Cath- 
olics in  Britain,  Miss  Seiton,  1  think  you  are  labouring  under  a 
mistake;  they  are  much  more  numerous  than  you  think,  and 
are  every  year  rapidly  increasing.  No,  no;  believe  me,  that  in 
Britain,  the  Roman  Catholic  faith  is  not  yet  forgotten  ;  though 
her  ancient,  fine,  and  magnificent  places  of  worship  be  in  ruins, 
they  are  not  yet  stript  of  the  character  they  once  bore  and 
though  dedicated  to  another  worship,  they  retain  too  much  ol 
their  ancient  form,  not  to  recal  continually  the  ancient  faith :  her 
doctrines  are  held,  I  know,  as  too  absurd  to  be  professed  by 
those,  '  who  blaspheme  what  they  do  not  know,'  and  who  look 
upon  her  ancient  and  magnificent  service  as  unmeaning  cere- 
monies; but  she  is  ever  ready  to  explain  them  to  those  who 
wish  to  regard  her  increasing  members  as  brothers  and  fellow- 
countrymen,  and  boldly  to  defend  her  claim  to  unchangeableneKS 
and  infallibility  against  the  accusations  of  her  enemies ;  for  the 
Catholic  Church  exhibits  even  in  her  thus  humbled  stale,  the 
brightest  evidence  of  an  Almighty  power,  that  has  borne  her 
vriumphant  through  three  centuries  of  the  bitterest  persecution." 

"  The  sight  of  those  fine  old  cathedrals,  and  the  splendid 
ruins  of  so  many  beautiful  monasteries,  which  were  built  by 
Catholics  and  originally  belonged  to  them,  have  certainly  very 
often  struck  me,!:  said  Harriet;  "I  once  knew  a  person  who 
became  a  Catholic  in  consequence  of  going  over  the  Cathedra! 
of  Durham,  which  you  know  is  a  beautiful  specimen  of  fine  old 
Saxon  architecture:  well,  the  beadle  of  the  church  was  showing 
all  the  curiosities  to  this  acquaintance  of  mine,  and,  arno!:ir.-; 
other  things,  the  vestments  and  priests'  copes,  I  think  you  call 
them,  which  had  belonged  to  the  Catholics;  she  asked  him 
what  use  was  made  of  these  things:  he  answered,  none,  lliat 
they  belonged  to  the  old  religion  ;  now  my  friend  thru-Tit  an.-;: 
this,  and  came  to  the  conclusion,  that  the  old  religio;.  w;;s  inor* 
likely  to  be  the  true  religion  than  the  new  one,  and  she  went  to 
a  Catholic  priest  to  ask  him  the  difference  between  the  o'>d 
religion  and  the  new  one,  and  in  a  few  weeks  she  became  ? 
Catholin." 


124  FATHER  OSWALD. 

"  Go  you,  my  dear  lady,  and  do  likewise,"  said  Father  Oswa.d 
smiling  very  benignantly;  "and  oh!  let  all  true  Christians 
pray  that  the  light  of  truth,  the  light  of  divine  revelation,  may 
continue  to  extend  its  beams,  till  it  overcomes  all  the  darkness 
of  Protestants  and  infidels,  dispel  ling  from  their  understandings 
the  clouds  of  ignorance  and  prejudice;  and  that  the  divine  grace 
may  soften  their  hearts  and  render  them  docile  to  the  truth,  so 
that  they  may  be  reunited  to  the  only  true  Catholic  and  Apos- 
lolic  Church,  of  which  Christ  is  the  living  Head,  to  whom  every 
Jiving  member  is  united  by  that '  faith  which  purifieth  the  heart, 
and  worketh  by  love.'  " 

There  was  a  pause,  interrupted  only  by  Dr.  Davison  rising, 
wishing  them  good-night,  and  taking  his  candle;  in  which 
operation  he  let  fall  the  snuffers  and  extinguisher,  and  fumbled 
for  them  so  long  under  the  table,  that  Harriet  at  length  offered 
to  assist  him.  Emma  and  her  uncle  exchanged  glances;  a  few 
minutes  after  the  Doctor  had  made  his  exit,  the  clock  struck 
eleven,  and  the  little  party  dispersed  for  the  night. 


CHAPTER    XV. 

"  Ye  good  distressed  ! 
tfe  noble  fe%v  !  who  here  unbending  stind 
Beneath  life's  pressure,  ye1  ^nar  up  a  whi  e, 
And  what  your  bounded  vie«,  which  only  *a\v 
A  little  part,  deerneil  evil,  is  no  more  ; 
The  storms  of  wintry  Time  "ill  quickly  puss, 
And  one  unbounded  Spring  encircle  all.'' — THOMSON. 

IN  a  few  days  the  severity  of  the  weather  was  sensibly  miti- 
gated, and  the  much  wished-for  thaw  rapidly  followed.  The 
Doctor  lost  no  time  in  profiting  of  the  first  moment  in.  which  the 
roads  became  passable,  and  with  great  glee  took  leave  of  the 
little  partv  at  the  Hall,  to  return  10  the  parsonage  '  He  had 
already  received  a  letter  from  Mr.  Sefton,  thanking  him  lor  his 
exertions,  and  hinting  at  Church  promotion,  if  he  could  but 
succeed  in  the  much-desired  object  of  bringing  back  his  wife  to 
Protestantism.  He  mentioned  also  that  he  wished  her  as  a.  last 
experiment  to  have  an  interview  with  his  very  particular  friend, 

the  Lord  Bishop  of  S ,  who  he  expected  would  pass  by 

Sefton  Hall  in  a  short  time,  on  his  way  to  the  North,  to  look 
after  the  tithes  of  a  rich  rectory  worth  £2,000  a  year,  which  he 


FATHER  OSWALD.  135 

neld  in  commemlam.  Though  the  Doctor  had  received  this  let- 
ter before  he  left  the  Hall,  he  said  not  one  word  about  it,  from 
the  fear  that  Harriet  might  wish  him  to  remain  longer  lo  help 
her  to  receive  the  Bishop.  When  safely  and  snugly  seated  by 
his  own  fire-side,  he  wrote  to  Mr.  Sefton,  saying  he  had  been 
obliged  to  return  to  the  parsonage,  but  expressed  Ins  hopts  that 

the  Bishop  of  S might  be  more  successful  with  Mrs.  Seiton 

than  he  had  been  ;  at  the  same  lime,  maintaining  his  decided 
opinion,  that  she  never  would  relinquish  the  religion  she  had 
embraced,  and  again  recommending  conciliatory  measures.  In 
a  few  weeks,  Harriet  received  a  letter  from  her  brother,  which 
both  provoked  and  annoyed  her  extremely ;  inasmuch  as  it  an- 
nounced the  arrival  in  a  few  days  of  the  Lord  Bishop  of  S 

and  his  ladv,  Mrs.  Boren,  with  all  the  little  Borens,  and  their 
nurserv-maids,  lady's-maids,  footmen,  valets,  coachmen  and 
horses,  to  pass  a  night  at  Sefton  Hall  on  their  road  to  the  North, 
with  an  express  desire,  that  they  should  all  be  treated  wilh  the 
gre;  test  attention  and  hospitality. 

"Upon  my  word!  and  a  nice  little  modest  suite  too  for  a 
Bishop ;  quite  apostolic,"  said  the  General,  laughing,  as  Harriet, 
in  order  to  give  vent  lo  her  vexation,  read  aloud  to  him  at  break- 
fast that  paragraph  of  her  brother's  letter. 

"  I  really  think  my  brother  has  gone  out  of  his  mind,"  added 
she  ;  "  what  is  to  be  done.  General  ?  And  then  the  disturbance 
it  will  be  to  poor  Emma,  now  especially  that  she  is  really  begin- 
ning to  tret  a  little  better." 

"  Say  nothing  to  her  about  it,  Miss  Harriet,  till  they  are  all 
in  the  house,  or  going  out  of  it ;  and  then  pass  it  off  as  an  acci- 
dental occurrence." 

"Not  so  easily  done  as  you  think,  my  good  General,"  said 
Harriet  with  a  perplexed  air ;  "  you  don't  know  what  this  Bishop 
is  coming  here  lor." 

"  To  make  this  house  an  inn  on  his  way  '.o  the  North,  I 
suppose  V 

"No,  no,"  said  Harriet  smiling;  "that  may  perhaps  be  one 
reason  ;  but  the  principal  object  of  this  invasion  is  to  make  Mrs. 
Seflon  renounce  Cathol  city." 

"Folly!  worse  than  lolly!"  exclaimed  the  General  indig- 
nantly; "as  you  yourself  must  ere  this  be  fullv  aware." 

"  Yes;  I  think  any  other  attempt  in  thai  respect  is  quite  use- 
less," replied  Harriet  with  a  sigh. 

"  I'll  tell  you  what,  Miss  Seiton. "ss  id  the  General."!  am 
quite  determined  upon  one  thing,  and  it  is  this;  that  if  your 
brother  makes  no  conciliatory  advances  towards  reconciliation 
witl>  his  wile  the  moment  she  is  strong  enough  to  bear  the 


126  FATHER  OSWALD. 

motion  of  a  carriage,  I  shall  have  her  removed  to  Weetwood 
and  take  charge  of  her  myself,  till  such  time  as  Mr.  Sefton 
comes  to  his  senses." 

"  Oh!  dear  Sir,"  said  Harriet  with  a  look  of  great  distress 
"it  will  only  widen  the  breach  and  make  matters  worse." 
11 1  am  of  a  different  opinion,  my  dear  Madam." 
At  this  moment  John  opened  the  door,  and  told  the  General 
that  his  mistress  wished  to  speak  to  him  when  breakfast  was 
finished.  When  the  General  answered  the  summons,  he  found 
Emma  in  tears,  with  an  open  letter  in  her  hand — she  gave  it  to 
her  uncle  to  read  ,  it  was  couched  in  severe  terms,  reproaching 
her  lor  the  little  attention  she  had  paid  to  Dr.  Davison's  exhor- 
tations, and  consequently  the  little  affection  and  care  she  had 
for  her  husband  and  his  happiness  ;  and  concluded  with  offering 
her,  as  a  last  alternative,  the  retraction  of  her  errors  privately 

in  the  hands  of  his  very  particular  friend  the  Bishop  of  S , 

whom  he  had  commissioned  to  ascertain  her  final  determination 
on  the  subject.  There  was  not  a  single  touch  of  tenderness  to 
mitigate  the  harshness  of  the  entire  letter.  Poor  Emma's  feel- 
ings were  deeply  wounded.  Her  uncle  did  all  in  his  power  to 
compose  and  encourage  her  under  this  severe  trial ;  but  he  saw 
she  was  not  then  susceptible  of  human  consolation,  and  there- 
fore wisely  endeavoured  to  excite  her  submission  to  the  divine 
will,  and  to  animate  her  courage  to  receive  and  embrace,  for 
the  love  of  God,  this  naked  Cross  dipped  in  gall.  He  took 
down  the  little  crucifix,  which  hung  by  her  bed-side,  and  placed 
it  on  her  bieast;  and  then  quietly  retiring  from  the  room,  left 
her  to  seek  consolation  from  Jesus  alone.  In  the  afternoon 
he  returned,  and  though  he  found  her  very  pale,  and  extremely 
exhausted,  yet  she  seemed  perfectly  calm,  and  even  cheerful. 
She  conversed  with  him  on  the  subject  of  the  letter,  and  asked 
his  advice,  whether  she  should  answer  it  or  not:  he  advised  her 
not  to  write,  but  to  give  her  final  answer  to  the  Bishop,  as  her 
husband  wished  ;  adding,  that  it  was  his  opinion  she  would  do 
well  to  make  her  interview  with  the  Bishop  as  short  and  as  de- 
cided as  possible.  The  General  then  told  her  his  wish :  that  she 
should  go  and  reside  with  him  at  Weetwood,  until  such  time 
as  a  reconciliation  could  be  brought  about.  Emma  looked  up, 
and  smiled  at  him  gratefully  through  her  tears,  which  flowed  at 
the  thoughts  of  leaving  the  home  of  which  she  had  been  so  lately 
the  happy  mistress;  but  she  agreed  to  accept  his  kind  proposal 
as  soon  as  she  was  well  enough  to  travel.  In  the  meantime, 
Harriet  informed  the  butler  and  housekeeper  of  the  expected 
intrusion,  and  of  their  master's  orders,  that  the  guests  should 
be  treated  wi'.h  distinction ;  all  was  soon  bustle,  and  grumble 


SV.TIIER  OSWALD.  15JV 

and  preparation  ;  Out  Harriet  could  not  resist,  from  time  lo 
lime,  venting  her  vexation  with  most  sincere  sympathy  in 
Emma's  room  at  all  this  useless  trouble  and  commotion.  In  a 
day  or  two  from  this  time,  the  expected  party  arrived  I'or  s.  seven 
o'clock  dinner,  (or  which,  however,  they  were  not  ready  till  near 
eight,  as  Mrs.  Boren  should  see  that  all  the  little  Borens  had  a 
proper  allowance  of  bread  and  milk,  and  were  in  train  for 
going  'o  bed,  before  she  could  make  her  appearance  in  the 
dining-room.  The  Bishop  was  a  man  about  fiity,  of  a  grave 
aspect,  stately  in  his  manners  and  pompous  in  his  words.  The 
dinner  went  off  rather  stillly,  for  Harriet  was  out  of  humour, 
and  the  General  did  not  care  to  make  himself  agreeable.  After 
dinner,  as  the  Prelate  was  sipping  his  rosolio,  he  inquired  it 
Mrs.  Sei'ton  would  wish  to  see  him  that  evening,  adding,  in  the 
same  sentence,  that  he  thought  the  visit  might,  perhaps,  be  more 
convenient  to  the  lady  if  made  the  next  day. 

"  You  cannot  possibly  see  my  niece  to-night,  my  Lord."  said 
the  General  bluntly  ;  "  she  is.  no  doubt,  by  this  time  in  bed,  and 
I  am  just  going  up-stairs  to  wish  her  good-night." 

"  I'm  afraid  we  are  rather  late,  indeed/'  said  Mrs.  Boren  care- 
lessly;  "  the  roads  were  in  such  a  horrid  state,  and  the  Bishop 
does  not  like  travelling  earlv." 

The  General  le!t  the  room,  and  the  Bishop,  turning  to  Har- 
riet, said,  "  Miss  Seftcn,  could  you  accommodate  us  with  a  pack 
of  cards  1  It  is  an  invariable  custom  with  myself  and  Mrs. 
Boren  lo  play  every  evening  a  game  at  picquet;  it  has  been  so 
ever  since  our  union,  and  there  is  nothing  like  keeping  up  good 
old  customs;  besides,  these  littl\:  mutual  condescensions  are  of 
infinite  use  in  preserving  the  amiable  sociabilities  of  the  mar- 
riage slate." 

Mrs.  Boren  simpered. 

Harriet  rose,  and  slowly  opening  the  drawer  of  a  little  cabi- 
net, produced  cards  and  counters;  she  then  rung  forlhe  servant 
t'>  arrange  the  card-table,  and  settled  herself  to  her  work 
While  the  Bishop  was  shuffling  the  cards,  he  put  sundry  queries 
to  Harriet  concerning  Mrs.  Sei'lon's  state  of  health,  which  she 
answered  as  laconically  as  was  consistent  with  politeness. 

"  Before  seeing  this  unfortunate,  misled  lady,"  continued  ihj 
Prelate,  "  I  should  wish  to  have  your  unbiassed  opinion,  Miss 
Sefton,  as  to  any  probability  of  success  in  Ihe  delicate  commis- 
sion consigned  to  my  execuiion  by  my  excellent  and  zealous 
friend.  Selton  ;  you,  my  dear  Madam,  I  am  given  to  understand, 
are  fully  aware  of  its  vital  importance." 

"  I  understand,  my  Lord,  thai  my  brother  has  commissioned 
you  to  receive  Mrs,  Sefton's  answer  as  to  whether  she  is  will- 


128  FATHER  OSWALD. 

ing  to  renounce  '.he  Catholic  religion,  or  not,"  answered  Hanie: 
coolly. 

"Pieciscly  so,  Miss  Sefton,  precisely  so,"  answered  the 
Bishop ;  "  now  do  you  think  I  have  any  reasonable  chance  ol 
•success,  or  not  V 

''•I  think,"  said  Harriet,  looking  up  from  her  work,  and 
shading  her  head.  *you  may  save  yourself  much  unnecessary 
trouble." 

The  L">rd  Bishop  of  S looked  surprised.  "  Why  so.  Mad- 
am '!  I  d  j  not  understand  you,"  said  he,  laying  down  his  cards. 

"  To  explain  myself  seriously  then,"  continued  Harriet,  "  1  do 
not  think  that  Mrs.  Sefton  will  ever  renounce  the  Catholic  reli- 
gion, which  she  has  embraced  from  a  conscientious  conviction 
that  it  is  the  only  true  one." 

"No,  no,  Ma'am,"  interrupted  the  Prelate,  "  Mrs.  Sefton  has 
not  become  a  Catholic  from  any  solid  conviction  of  the  truth  ; 
that  can  never  be ;  but  from  a  foolish  perversion  of  a  weak 
understanding.  She  has  allowed  herself  to  be  led  astray  by  tha 
specious  sophistry  of  some  crafty  priest.  If  she  were  better 
informed  of  the  errors  of  Popery,  and  the  purity  of  the  reformed 
religion,  it  might  be  otherwise.  I  fear  Dr.  Davison  has  been 
very  negligent,  or  he  would  have  opened  her  eyes  before  this  to 
the  evident  illusions  into  which  she  has  been  led  by  deep,  de- 
signing, and  dangerous  people." 

"  I  can  assure  you,  my  Lord  Bishop,"  said  Harriet,  warmly, 
"your  surmises  are  any  thing  but  right.  In  the  first  place,  I 
know  Mrs  Sefton  is  a  well-inlormed  woman,  of  sound  judgment 
and  acute  penetration.  She  has  read  much,  and  is  well  instruc- 
ted in  religious  matters,  so  that  I  am  persuaded  she  has  not  taken 
her  resolution,  and  sacrificed  all  her  earthly  feelings,  without 
the  fullest  conviction.  In  the  next  place,  I  know  that  Dr.  Da- 
vison has  taken  immense  pains  and  trouble  in  the  matter,  and 
has  exerted  all  the  strength  of  reason  and  authority  to  convince 
her  of  her  errors,  but  in  vain;  Dr.  Davison  cannot  be  blamed, 
I  assure  you." 

Harriet  said  this  with  great  feeling,  anxious  to  exculpate  her 
old  Iriend. 

"  Well,  my  dear  Miss  Sefton,"  subjoined  the  Bishop,  "grant- 
ing for  a  moment  what  you  say  to  be  true,  she  has  still  been 
under  tlie  influence  of  her  uncle,  and,  what  is  much  worse,  under 
the  influence  of  a  certain  Jesuit,  who  lives,  I  understand,  some- 
where in  this  neighbourhood,  of  the  name  of  Oswald." 

"  I  know  Mr.  Oswald  very  well ;  he  is  a  very  clever,  pious, 
and  charitable  man,"  replied  Harriet,  <:  and,  I  am  sure,  a  very 
sincere  and  good  Christian.  General  Russell,  to  be  sure,  is 


FATHER  OSWALD.  li)1* 

rather  a  rough  antagonist,  and  I  can  assure  you,  Sir,  it  was  very 
distressing  for  me  to  behold  Dr  Davison  knocked  about  like  a 
shuttlecock  between  two  battledores;  still,  I  am  certain  rf  one 
thing,  that  no  human  influence  made  Emma  become  a  Catholic, 
poor  thing!  and  no  one  shall  ever  persuade  me  to  the  contrary." 

"  You  little  know  the  wiles  of  Jesuitism.  Madam,"  said  ihr» 
Bishop  warmly,  as  he  dealt  the  cards. 

"  Take  care,  my  love,  or  you  will  miss  the  deal,"  said  Mrs. 
Boren. 

"  I  hope,  Miss  Sefton,"  continued  the  Bishop,  "  their  sophistry 
has  not  undermined  your  faith." 

"  No  fear  of  that,  my  Lord,"  said  Harriet,  "  for  I  do  not  think 
it  matters  much  what  opinions  we  hold,  provided  we  live  a  good 
life.  This,  however,  1  ran  assure your  Lordship,  that  while  Dr. 
Davison  was  speaking  I  was  fulls  persuaded  he  was  in  the 
right;  then,  when  Mr.  Oswald  was  speaking,  it  seemed  to  me 
he  was  also  in  the  right.  How  could  I  judge  between  them  1 
so  methought  it  was  test  not  to  trouble  myself  about  it." 

" Beware,  Miss  Sefton,"  replied  the  Bishop;  "it  is  astonish- 
ing and  most  alarming,  the  incalculable  damage  done  to  the 
Church  by  the  active  fanaticism  of  those  missionary  Jesuits." 

"  Yes,"  lisped  out  Mrs.  Boren ;  "  they  will  not  hesitate  to  com- 
mit any  crime  for  the  service  of  their  cause." 

"  You  are  pleased  to  be  complimentary,  my  good  lady,"  ex- 
claimed the  General,  who  had,  unperceived  by  her,  at  that  mo- 
ment entered  the  room ;  ':  if  the  poor  Jesuits  heard  you,  I  fear 
you  would  make  them  proud;  they  are  too  apt  to  rejoice  'when 
they  are  counted  worthy  to  suffer  reproach  for  the  name  of 
Jesus.'  "* 

"  La  !"  said  Mrs.  Boren.  "  I  thought,  Sir,  you  had  gone  to 
wish  Mrs.  Sefton  good-night." 

'•  And  I  have  done  so,  Ma'am,"  said  the  General,  "  and  she 
sends  her  compliments,  desiring  me  to  express  her  wishes  that 
you  and  the  Bishop  will  ask  Ibr  whatever  you  want  for  your- 
selves and  your  family." 

'•'  I  am  sure  we  are  infinitely  obliged,"  said  the  lady. 

<;  Point,  quint,  and  quartorze  !"  exclaimed  the  Bishop,  display- 
ing his  cards. 

The  clock  struck  eleven,  and  Harriet  proposed  to  the  travel- 
lers to  retire,  as  they  might  probably  be  fatigued  with  their 
journey. 

The  next  morning  the  Bishop  of  S had  an  interview 

with  Mrs.  Sefton.  He  was  not  a  little  surprised  at  the  calm  and 
simple  dignity  wilh  which  she  received  him.  The  Bishop 

*  Acts  v.  41 
12 


130  FATHER  OSWALD. 

jegan  in  a  mild  manner  to  expostulate  with  her  on  the  infatua- 
Von,  as  lie  called  it,  of  plunging  herself  and  family  into  an 
ibvss  of  misery,  and  of  forcing  her  worthy  husband  to  flee  from 
her  presence,  and  from  his  own  house. 

"  Ah  !  Sir,"  said  Mrs.  Sefton  with  great  meekness,  but  with 
evident  emotion,  as  the  big  tear  started  from  her  eye,  i;  no  one 
could  eel  the  cruel  pang  more  deeply  than  I  do  myself;  yet  the 
sufferings  of  this  brief  life,  however  acute,  must  weigh  as  a 
leather  when  placed  in  the  balance  with  the  interests  of  eternity." 

"  Do  not  deceive  yourself,"  said  the  Bishop  with  a  kind  and 
soothing  tone  of  voice;  "may  not  the  interests  of  eternity  be 
sadly  com f >i umtsed  by  a  wilful  and  obstinate  disobedience  to 
him,  to  whom  you  have  bound  yourself  by  your  marriage  vow  V 

"  My  conscience,''  said  Emma  with  meek  firmness,  "  does  not 
reproach  me  with  disobedience  in  any  one  thine:  that  a  husband 
may  command.  God  knows  my  heart,  how  ready  I  am  at  this 
moment  to  render  him  in  a  tenfold  degree,  all  the  love,  respect, 
and  obedience  that  I  have  hitherto  rendered  him,  if  he  would 
only  permit  me  to  enjoy  the  liberty  of 'conscience  which  he  him- 
self so  loudly  vindicates  " 

"Perhaps,  my  dear  Madam,"  insinuated  the  Bishop  in  the 
same  bland  manner,  "  you  may  mistake  the  true  nature  of  liberty 
of  conscience;  a  licentiousness  of  thought  and  conduct  is  often 
cloaked  under  that  name.  You  must  be  aware  that  God  himself, 
cannot  sanction  in  man  the  profession  of  error  and  superstition." 

:'  That,  Sir,  is  precisely  the  reason  which  determined  me  to 
renounce  the  errors  of  Protestantism,  and  to  embrace  the  truth 
of  Catholicism." 

"  Madam,"  replied  the  Bishop  with  some  degree  of  warmth, 
"'you  misname  things  egregiously;  what  you  call  errors  are 
pure  Gospel  truths  ;  what  you  deem  truths,  are  the  pernicious 
errors  of  Popery,  rank  idolatry,  and  frightful  blasphemy ;  such 
you  would  have  found  them,  had  you  read  your  Bible  with  at- 
tention." 

"  I  have  read  the  Bible,  Sir,  and  studied  it  to  the  best  o(  my 
power,  and  the  more  I  read,  the  more  I  am  convinced  of  the 
truth  of  Catholicity." 

"  You  ought  not,  my  dear  Madam,"  said  the  Bishop  more 
soothingly,  '-to  rely  too  much  on  your  own  judgment;  ycur  too 
vivid  imagination  may  too  easily  lead  you  astray.  On  so  im- 
portant a  step  you  ought  to  have  listened  to  the  voice  of-  ycur 
legitimate  pastors,  who  have  been  placed  by  the  Holy  Ghost  to 
rule  the  Church  of  God." 

"  For  that  very  reason,"  said  Emma,  smiling  somewhat 
archly,  "  1  applied  to  the  legitimate  pastors  of  that  Church,  which 


FATHER  OSWALD.  131 

received  the  divine  commission  fifteen  hundred  years  before  the 
self-constituted  pastors  of  Protestantism  were  heard  of." 

The  Bishop  seeing  he  had  no  chance  of  making  any  impres- 
sion on  her,  rose  to  withdraw,  when  Mrs.  Sefton  declared  to 
him  in  the  most  formal  terms,  her  firm  and  final  determination  to 
live  and  die  a  Catholic.  The  Bishop,  fully  convinced  he  could 
do  no  more,  was  secretly  as  much  desirous  of  shortening  the  inter- 
view as  herself.  Mrs.  Sefton  then  begged  him  to  interpose  his 
pood  otiices  with  her  husband,  to  induce  him  to  a  reconciliation, 
but  he  gave  her  little  hopes  of  succeeding,  and  thus  the  meet- 
ing ended.  Alter  a  hot  luncheon,  the  whole  episcopal  suite 
was  again  in  progress  towards  the  North,  to  the  no  small  relief 
of  Harriet  and  the  General. 

This  additional  mortification  retarded  the  convalescence  of 
Emma:  her  natural  yearnings  towards  her  children  and  daily 
rnxiety  about  them,  she  endured  with  resignation  to  the  will  of 
Clod  as  a  Christian,  but  she  could  not  feel  them  mitigated  as  a 
i  lother.  She  often  and  often  tried  to  persuade  Harriet  to  go 
3  ml  join  her  brother  in  Devonshire,  and  then  she  would  add 
•rith  a  sigh,  "  perhaps  I  might  suffer  less  about  my  babies  if 
iuey  were  under  your  eye  ;"  when  Harriet  would  reply  smiling, 
"  You  know,  dearest  Emma,  I  am  not  fond  of  children,  bin  if 
you  would  only  make  haste  and  get  well,  I  don't  know  what  I 
might  do  to  please  you." 

Harriet  flattered  herself,  as  people  will  flatter  themselves 
through  the  medium  of  a  little  self-love,  that  if  skf  could  s?e  her 
brother,  she  might  have  influence  enough  with  him  to  induce 
him  to  consent  to  a  reconciliation  with  his  wife.  In  the  mean- 
while, Emma's  health  improved  so  much,  that  about  the  middle 
of  March,  she  was  able  to  bear  the  removal  toWeetwood,  to  the 
great  satisfaction  of  the  General,  who  did  all  in  his  power  to 
settle  her  there  as  comfortably  and  peaceably  as  circumsiances 
Mould  permit ;  her  mind,  loo,  was  much  soothed  and  relieved 
by  the  kindness  of  Harriet,  who.  immediately  on  her  removal, 
left  Sefton  Hall,  and  joined  her  brother  and  his  little  family  at 
Eagleues;  Cottage,  in  Devonshire. 


132  FATHER  OSWALD. 


CHAPTER   XVI. 

"  What  stronger  breast-plate  than  a  heart  untainted  ? 
Thrice  is  he  armed  that  hath  his  quarrel  just ; 
And  he  but  naked,  though  locked  up  in  steel, 
Whose  conscience  with  injustice  is  corrupted." — SKAKSPEAKK 

TIIR  thread  of  our  story  now  obliges  us  to  follow  the  devious 
wanderings  of  Mr.  Sefton,  while  we  leave  his  forsaken  and 
a/llicted  wife  to  pursue  the  even  tenour  of  her  life  under  the  hos- 
pitable roof  of  Weetwood.  There  she  offered  up  daily  at  the 
throne  of  mercy  her  fervent  supplications  for  the  welfare  of  her 
husband  and  of  her  children  ;  many  and  many  a  time  in  the  day 
and  night  would  the  ardent  aspiration  burst  from  her  heart,  that 
the  Father  of  lights  might  in  His  mercy  pour  down  on  him  and 
on  them  His  first  best  gift — the  knowledge  of  the  truth;  that  they 
might  with  one  heart  and  one  mind  worship  together  at  the  same 
altar,  and  live  again  in  holy  peace  and  domestic  happiness. 

The  arrival  of  Harriet  at  Eaglenest  Cottage,  caused  Mr.  Sef- 
ton many  painful  and  conflicting  emotions,  for  he  had  not  seen 
her  since  his  separation  from  his  wife  ;  and  Harriet  did  not  fail 
to  speak  her  mind  very  freely  to  him  with  entire  disapprobation 
of  his  conduct.  However  lie  might  be  sensible  of  the  truth  of 
his  sister's  remarks,  his  pride  prevented  him  from  acknowledging 
himself  in  the  wrong;  he  became  every  i la y  more  and  more 
unhappy.  In  the  secret  of  his  inmost  heart  he  wished  to  forgive 
Emma,  but  the  thoughts  that  the  world  might  attribute  this  lenity 
to  weakness,  and  that  his  more  rigid  Protestant  friends  might 
not  approve  it,  chilled  the  justice  of  his  better  feelings.  He 
sternly  resolved  net  to  forgive  her;  but  this  resolution,  instead 
of  bringing  him  peace  as  he  had  hoped,  made  him  positively 
miserable,  and  had  an  evident  effect  in  producing  moroseness 
in  his  manners,  and  irritation  in  his  temper.  Ho  loved  Emma 
even  passionately,  and  the  yearnings  of  his  affection  towards 
her  frequently  caused  him  excessive  mental  angubh  and  r^jret , 
in  vain  he  struggled  with  his  feelings;  the  more  he  tried  to  per- 
suade himself  he  was  acting  rightly,  the  more  miserable  he  was; 
hi;  could  scarcely  bear  the  sight  of  his  children,  and  when  the 
little  prattlers  named  "  Mamma,"  he  would  rush  out  of  the  house, 
and  pace  for  hours  along  the  sea-shore  in  the  greatest  agitation. 

One  day  he  heard  his  friend  the  Bishop  of  S a».ution  his 

intention  of  making  a  tour  on  the  Continent,  for  the  Lenctt  of 
giving  a  travelling  linish  to  his  eldest  son  and  daughti  i  :  the  for- 
mer a  captain  in  the  arm}',  ou  leave  of  absence.  The  Hca&ud- 


FATHER  OSWALD.  133 

denly  struct  Selton,  that  it  would  he  an  excellent  step  Id  himself 
to  take;  that  travelling  would  divert  and  improve  his  mind,  and 
that  his  absence  from  England  would  be  a  still  greater  trial  to 
Emma.  Accordingly,  a  few  days  alter,  he  resolved  to  travel, 
and  promised  the  Bishop  to  meet  him  in  Italy  ere  the  Autuno 
was  over.  Sefton  persuaded  Harriet  to  take  charge  of  his  babes, 
and  in  less  than  a  fortnight  from  the  time  he  had  first  thought  on 
the  suliject,  he  was  sailing  over  the  'sunny  sea,'  between  Dover 
and  Calais.  True  it  is,  that  his  heart  was  sunk  in  a  pro.ound 
melancholy,  and  that  his  conscience  bitterly  reproached  him 
with  abandoning  his  wife  and  family  in  that  manner;  but  still 
me  novelty  of  the  scenes  around  him  diverted  his  imagination 
in  spite  of  himself.  When  he  landed  on  the  French  shore,  he 
was  forcibly  struck  by  the  characteristic  and  national  difference 
in  the  persons,  manners,  and  dress  of  all  around  him.  He,  for 
sometime,  stood  gazing  on  the  scenes  that  passed  rapidly  before 
him,  in  a  sort  of  a  dreaming  philosophical  study  upon  what 
might  be  the  origin  and  cause  of  so  striking  a  difference  in  the 
inhabitants  of  the  Gallic  and  British  shores,  separated  by  so 
short  a  distance,  until  he  was  roused  by  the  rueful  I'ace  of  his 
valet,  Luigi,  who  inquired  if  he  would  not  like  to  go  to  ihe  hotel. 
The  poor  valet  had  suffered  from  the  sea,  and  seemed  to  think 
the  most  sensible  and  practical  philosophy  at  that  time  would 
consist  in  the  comfort  to  be  drawn  from  a  good  basin  of  French 
soup.  At  the  same  moment  Mr.  Sefton  was  attacked  by  some 
half-dozen  of  dirty  ragged  French  porters,  all  solicitous  for  the 
honour  of  his  employment;  some  trying  to  attract  his  attention 
in  one  way,  some  in  another;  some  stuffing  cards  into  his  hands, 
recommending  the  hotels  by  which  they  were  employed,  others 
declaring  this  way  was  the  way  Monsieur  ought  to  go,  and  more 
that  Monsieur  ought  to  go  the  opposite  way, — that  Monsieur 
would  be  sure  to  be  imposed  upon  and  ill-served.  At  length 
Luigi  succeeded  in  obtaining  -something  like  silence,  and  in 
making  his  master  understand  that  his  luggage  had  already  been 
conveyed  to  Dessin's  Hotel.  With  some  difficulty,  Sefton 
escaped  from  his  zea.ous  pursuers,  and  soon  found  himself  in  a 
quiet  and  elegant  little  apartment,  with  Monsieur  De.«?sin  before 
him  making  his  best  bow,  and  offering  every  imaginable  kind 
of  civility.  Sefton  ordered  a  late  dinner,  and  having  done  so, 
soon  after  left  the  hotel,  to  explore  the  curiosities  and  peculiari- 
ties of  Calais;  he  amused  himself  with  walking  in  all  directions 
for  a  couple  of  hours,  and  then  began  to  think  of  retracing  his 
steps  to  the  inn.  As  he  passed  through  one  of  the  quaint  and 
narrow  streets,  he  observed  a  low  and  antique-looking  building, 
and  heard  the  sounds  of  solemn  music  issue  from  its  open  door; 
12* 


134  FATHER  OSWALD. 

Eclwar  i's  curiosity  was  excited,  and  lie  entered.  Ir  was  a  chnrcft 
the  Blessed  Sacrament,  was  exposed  on  the  high  altar,  incense 
was  circling  in  clouds  around  it,  and  the  last  dying  strains  of  the 
"  Tantum  Ergo"  were  falling  from  the  lips  of  the  assembled 
peasants.  It  was  the  first  time  Edward  had  been  in  a  Catholic- 
church  :  he  was  surprised  to  see  the  religion  he  so  thoroughly 
hated  and  despised,  publicly  professed  and  respected;  yeF,  in 
spite  of  his  mingled  sentiments  of  pride  and  dislike,  he  could 
not  help  being  struck  with  the  air  of  lender  piety  and  respect: ul 
awe  of  all  around  him.  When  the  religious  rites  were  ended, 
he  examined  the  church  with  curious  eyes,  and  with  not  a  lew 
mental  aspirations  of  contempt  at  what  he  conceived  supersti- 
tious objects.  As  he  drew  near  the  door,  he  observed  a  French 
lem'ale  peasant  about  thirty,  with  a  high  Normandy  cap  and 
sunburnt  cheeks,  kneeling  before  an  altnr  over  which  was  placed 
an  antique  marble  image  of  the  Blessed  Virgin  and  her  Divine 
Son,  upon  whicti  the  rich  golden  rays  of  the  setting  sun  were 
casting  their  last  effulgent  beams  through  one  of  the  gothic  win- 
dows at  the  end  of  the  church.  The  peasant  was  teaching  her 
little  girl  to  join  her  hands  in  prayer  before  the  image  of  Jesus 
and  Mary.  Edward  approached  them,  and,  with  his  best  French, 
politely  asked  in  a  low  voice  what  holiday  it  was. 

"  It  is  no  holiday  at  all,  Sir,"  answered  the  young  woman, 
without  raising  her  eyes. 

"  No  holiday  !  then  why  is  the  church  open  V 

"  In  order  that  we  may  praise  the  good  God,  and  pray  to 
Him." 

"  But  what  is  all  this  ceremony  I  have  just  seen  7" 

"  It  is  the  evening  benediction,"  said  the  peasant,  raising  her 
dark  eyes  to  look  at  the  interrogator,  while  an  evanescent  smile 
of  pity,  mingled  with  a  little  satire,  dimpled  round  her  lips  as 
she  added,  "  Monsieur  must  know  that  good  Christians  should 
pray  to  God  on  Mondays  as  well  as  on  Sundays." 

Edward  felt  a  little  confused,  he  knew  not  why;  he  bowed 
slightly  to  his  new  acquaintance,  and  hastily  left  the  church. 

"What  a  pity,  Mamma,"  said  the  little  French  child  io  her 
mother  "  that  so  fine  a  gentleman  does  not  know  his  Catechism 
better !" 

"  Hush,  my  dear,"  replied  the  good  countrywoman,  "let  us 
recommend  him  to  our  Lady,"  and  they  breathed  a  silent  prayer 
to  the  mother  of  divine  love  for  the  salvation  of  the  passing 
stranger. 

When  Edward  reached  his  hotel,  he  found  the  dinner  ready, 
and  a  blazing  wood  fire  in  the  dining-room:  every  thing  was 
e-xceiient,  even  elegant,  but  he  )^lt  an  indescribable  melancholy 


FATHER  OSWALD.  135 

Emma  au-i  he  had  often  anticipated  the  pleasures  of  a  short  ex- 
cui».r:n  to  ihe  Continent:  Edward  was  now  enjoying  that  pleas- 
ure, lut  Emma  was  not  with  him  ;  and  why  was  not  the  loved 
one  with  him  1  He  stifled  the  thought  without  answering  it ; 
but  memory  was  busy  in  recalling  her  gentle  and  lovely  lorm, 
and  imagination  in  suggesting  what  pleasure  he  should  have  had 
in  the  enjoyment  of  her  bland  arid  lively  conversation.  With 
an  involuntary  sigh  he  took  up  the  last  French  papers  and  seated 
himself  by  the  fire.  It  was  a  time  of  great  public  interest  in 
France,  being  early  in  the  spring  of  1830,  when  every  thing 
portended  an  approaching  crisis.  Edward  determined  to  ob- 
serve the  progress  of  events,  but  not  to  mingle  in  politics,  a 
resolution  more  easily  made  than  kept  by  one  of  his  ardent  tem- 
perament. Happy  for  him  had  he  adhered  to  this  prudent  re- 
solve, "car  les  occasions  nenous  rendent  pas  fragiles,  maiselles 
font  voir  combien  nous  le  sommcs.'1  The  Church  clock  struck 
eleven;  Selton  took  his  candle,  and,  ordering  Luigi  to  call 
him  at  seven  o'clock,  he  retired  to  rest.  Very  early  the  fol- 
lowing morning  he  was  roused  by  the  ringing  of  bells  and  the 
hum  of  many  voices,  and,  opening  (he  window-shutter,  was 
surprised  to  see  that  though  it  was  still  dusk,  the  street  was 
thronged  with  people.  He  tried  to  sleep  again,  but  could  not, 
and.  in  the  vexation  of  his  spirit  muttered  to  himself,  "  If  such 
a  nuisance  existed  in  England,  it  would  soon  be  indicted."  At 
length  Luivji  appeared,  and  his  master  called  out  in  no  very  pa- 
tient voice  to  know  what  holiday  it  was  which  occasioned  such 
an  early  noise  and  bustle  amongst  the  inhabitants 7 

"  It  is  no  holiday,  Sir,"  answered  Luigi ;  "  the  tells  are  only 
•inging  for  the  first  masses." 

"  What  foolery !"  exclaimed  Edward  indignantly. 

"But,  Sir,  the  poor  people  like  to  hear  mass  before  they  go 
to  their  day's  work,"  expostulated  Luigi. 

"  Pshaw!"  bring  some  hot  water,  and  get  ready  to  start  for 
Paris  immediately;  I  have  had  quite  enough  of  this  vile  place.1' 

Luigi  was  an  Italian  and  a  Catholic,  and  he  could  not  help 
giving  a  slight  shrug  of  his  shoulder  at  his  master's  burst  of 
indignation  against  the  good  practice  of  hearing  mass  in  the 
morning;  however,  he  said  nothing,  but  quietly  withdrew,  tt 
execute  the  orders  he  had  just  received.  In  a  few  more  hours, 
he  was  travelling  as  fast  as  iour  French  horses  could  canter  on 
the  road  to  Paris. 

Soon  after  Mr.  Sefton's  arrival  in  the  gay  metropolis,  whithei 
ne  journeyed  to  drown  his  reflection,  he  settled  himself  in  a  com- 
fortable and  elegant  lodging  in  the  Rue  de  la  Paix,  and  the  day 
alter,  delivered  the  letters  of  introduction  which  he  had  brought 


13$  FATHER  OSWALD. 

for  several  French  and  English  families  of  distinction.  Amongst 
these  letters  there  was  one  lor  a  Monsieur  La  Harpe,  an  eminent 
literary  character,  and  a  relation  of  the  celebrated  La  Harpe, 
\vho  figured  in  the  Revolution  of  1792,  and  afterwards  atoned 
for  his  fanaticism  and  his  errors  to  the  best  of  his  power  by  his 
exertions  in  the  cause  of  religion  and  literature.  With  the  gen- 
tleman to  whom  he  presented  his  letter,  Edward  soon  formed  a 
considerable  intimacy,  and  many  of  their  mornings  were  spent 
together.  Monsieur  La  Harpe  accompanied  him  to  the  church- 
es and  institutions  the  best  worth  seeing  in  Paris,  to  St.  Denis, 
ana  to  Pere  L:-i  Chaise:  still  there  was  such  a  total  dissimilari- 
ty in  their  opinions  and  sentiments  on  religion  and  politics,  thai 
it  prevented  their  acquaintance  ripening  into  the  more  congenial 
feelings  of  friendship.  La  Harpe  was  strongly  in  favour  of  thf 
reigning  sovereign,  and  he  trembled  for  the  fate  of  religion  and 
his  country  in  the  political  and  infidel  ferment  which  he  knew 
to  he  silently  but  surely  working  for  the  destruction  of  the  for- 
mer, under  the  pretext  of  regenerating  the  latter.  Sefion  laughed 
at  his  apprehensions,  and  spared  not  the  most  bitter  sarcasms 
against  those  who  wished  to  maintain  what  he  conceived  an 
erroneous  system  of  religion  :  yet  he  was  by  principle  a  royal- 
ist and  abhorred  the  idea  of  a  revolution,  unless  effected  quietly, 
and  solely  for  the  subversion  of  despotism  and  bigotry. 

Monsieur  La  Harpe  was  also  frequently  piqued  ai.d  annoyed 
wilit  the  unsparing  and  even  harsh  manner  in  which  Mr.  SeSton 
criticised  and  abused  every  thing  relative  to  the  Catholic  reli- 
gion ;  he  was  astonished,  too,  at  his  gross  ignorance  of  the  tenets 
customs,  rites,  and  history  of  that  religion,  which,  nevertheless 
hs  seemed  to  have  a  peculiar  zest  in  maligning.  At  first  Ln 
Harpe  endeavoured  to  explain  things  to  him,  and  then  Edward 
proceeded  from  objections  to  sheer  abuse,  which  very  much  dis- 
gusted his  new  acquaintance,  and  thus  their  intercourse  gradu- 
ally became  less  frequent;  not,  however,  without  the  secre' 
regret  of  Edward,  who,  notwithstanding  his  errors  an«:.  preju- 
dices, had  a  great  admiration  for  talent  wherever  he  met  with  it 
To  drown  recollection,  Sefton  next  tried  gaiety,  and  plungee 
into  the  dissipation  of  the  highest  circles,  and  all  the  heartless 
tr.lling  of  what  is  especially  styled  the  "  beau  monde;"  he  se- 
dulously frequented  assemblies,  dinners,  routs, and  theatres;  but 
a  k:\v  weeks  of  this  life  soon  disgusted  him  :  neither  had  the 
r.Hind  of  senseless  gaiety  in  which  he  indulged,  power  to  touch 
his  heart  or  interest  his  understanding;  he  felt  a  void  and  wea- 
riness in  everything.  He  next  resolved  to  try  literature :  he 
frequented  all  the  libraries,  museums,  and  lectures,  of  any  note, 
eitaer  public  or  private ;  but  when  the  first  ardour  of  pursuit 


FATHER  OSWALD.  13* 

tvas  over,  and  (he  pleasure  of  novelty  had  ceased,  he  felt  that  he 
was  more  unhappy  than  ever,  and  farther  from  the  peace  of 
mind  and  repose  of  heart  which  he  so  much  coveted,  and  wrack 
he  had  once  enjoyed,  but  which  lie  now  had  lost  perhaps  for 
ever.  "  And  why  have  I  lost  this  treasure  1"  he  would  some- 
times say  to  himself;  "and  why  do  I  now  find  no  interest  in 
any  thing  1"  He  durst  not  seek  for  the  answer,  though  he  knew 
that  it  lay  in  his  inmost  soul;  for,  as  often  as  he  turned  his 
menta'.  eye  inwards,  he  was  startled  with  the  image  of  his  in- 
jured, persecuted,  and  deserted  wife.  He  strove  in  vain  to 
banish  the  accusing  thought ;  but,  night  and  day,  it  ever  haunted 
him  and  embittered  every  hour  of  his  life. 


CHAPTER    XVII. 

••  The  march  of  intcifcct !  What  know  we  now 
Of  mora1,  or  of  thought  and  sentiment, 
Which  was  not  known  two  thousand  years  ago  T 
It  is  an  empty  hoast,  a  vain  conceit 
Of  folly,  ignorance,  and  base  intent  " — EGERTON  BRYDGES. 

ONE  day,  as  Sefton  was  passing  along  the  boulevards,  he  ac- 
cidentally met  with  an  old  acquaintance:  a  young  man  of  the 
name  of  Le  Sage,  the  son  of  a  French  emigre,  who  had  been 
born  and  educated  in  England.  Edward  had  known  him  al 
Cambridge.  They  had  not  met  for  twelve  years;  Le  Sngewas 
delighted  to  see  again  his  old  friend,  and  welcomed  him  with 
all  the  animated  warmth  of  the  French  character. 

"  Ah  !  Sefton !"  exclaimed  he,  "  can  it  be  you !  thrice  welcome 
10  Paris  and  to  my  roof." 

Sel'ton  thanked  him  for  his  kindness;  but  a  forced  smile,  be- 
lying the  melancholy  of  his  brow,  betrayed  to  the  quick  eye  ol 
liis  friend  some  secret  sorrow  that  lay  rankling  at  his  heart 
Le  Sage  perceived  it,  but  prudently  forbore  to  probe  it  too  ao(  p- 
ly,  lest  he  might  irritate  it  the  more.  He  only  asked  Sefton  il 
he  had  come  alone. 

"  CLuite  alone,"  replied  Edward  rather  shortly. 

"  I  hope  nothing  has  occurred  to  render  my  friend  unnapp)  V 
jiquired  Le  Sage  in  a  tone  of  interest. 

Sellon  gave  no  answer,  but  sighed  deeply. 

"  My  dear  Sefton,"  continued  Le  Sage,  "  unburthen  at  once 


138  FATHER  OSWAI.JJ. 

the' sorrow  of  your  heart  into  the  bosom  of  a  faithful  friend,  who 
•.vould  willingly  bear  a  portion  of  your  grief  and  do  any  tiling 
ia  his  power  to  serve  you." 

•Sefton  became  still  more  agitated. 

"Alas!  perhaps  cruel  fate  has  robbed  you  of  some  dear  ob- 
ject of  your  affections]" 

.Sefton  almost  groaned. 

"  Come,  cheer  up,  my  friend ;  we  cannot  reverse  the  decrees 
of  fate;  death  is  only  an  eternal  repose,  and  your  poor  wi.e — " 

'•'  Is  not  dead,"  exclaimed  Selion  with  vehemence  ;  "  would  to 
God  she  had  died  before  she  brought  disgrace  upon  herself  and 
misery  on  me  and  my  family!" 

"Oh  !  oh!"  replied  Le  Sage  with  a  sarcastic  smile,  "  I  un 
demand  you  ;  so  your  once  incomparable  wife,  has  unhappily 
proved  herself  as  frail  as  any  other  fair  one." 

Seflou's  countenance  burned  with  an  honest  blush  :  he  was 
conscious  that  his  own  unguarded  expression  had  cast  an  un- 
merited stain  on  Emma's  name  ;  he  bit  his  lip,  he  vainly  tried 
to  suppress  his  indignation,  his  eye  kindled  and  flashed  with 
emotion,  his  Irritated  feelings  bursting  through  all  control. 

"  My  God !"  exclaimed  he,  "  what  have  you  dared  to  insinu- 
ate! you  wrong  her,  Sir,  you  wrong  her  grossly  ;  the  withering 
breath  of  scandal  has  never  tarnished  her  spotless  name,  and 
never  shall,  with  impunity,  in  my  presence." 

"  Heavens  and  earth !  my  dear  Selton."  said  Le  Sage,  quite 
astonished  at  his  agitation;  "pardon  me,  I  pray,  if,  unintention- 
allv.  I  have  caused  you  any  pain  ;  I  can  assure  you  I  meant  no 
offence.  If  I  have  offended  by  a  rash  suspicion,  it  was  yourself 
w-ho  led  me  into  error;  you  spoke,  of  disgrace  and  misery  on 
yourself  and  family ;  what  else  could  I  infer1?" 

"Any  thing  but  that  dreadful  suspicion." 

"Sefton,  be  cairn;  tell  me  the  extent  of  your  misfortune,  for 
I  am  quite  bewildered." 

"  Sefton  "s  indignation  now  turned  against  himself;  he  blushed 
n.ore  intensely  at  his  own  hasty  expression.  "To  cut  short 
every  other  suspicion,"  said  he,  more  calmly,  "she  is  become  a 
Papist." 

"  Le  Sage  could  with  difficulty  restrain  his  laughter;  but, 
seeing  the  emotions  of  his  friend,  he  tried  to  soothe  him 

"Come,  come,  Sefton,  lay  aside  this  morbid  humour;  banish 
mclancholv  :  if  this  be  the  only  cause  of  your  grief,  all  will  soon 
be  well.  A  short  run  in  Paris  will  soon  inspire  you  with  wiser 
notions.  We  manage  these  matters  much  better  in  Fr,  nee;  we 
allow  our  wives  and  daughters  to  n.muse  themselves  with  these 
bagatelles  just  as  they  please  ;  they  must  have  somcthin?  tf 


FATHER  OSWALD  139 

weupy  their  busy  imaginations,  and  we  do  not  fir.i1  them  less 
dutiful  or  less  amiable  because  they  are  more  devout.  Why 
von  know  that  I  was  born  a  Papist,  and  am  generally  esteemed 
one  now." 

"  Yes/'  replied  Sefton,  "I  know  you  are  nominally  a  Papist, 
because  Papists  constitute  the  predominant  sect  of  your  country  ; 
but  thanks  to  your  English  education,  you  have  imbibed  more  ra- 
tional ideas;  you  can  neither  believe  nor  practice  the  vile  su- 
perstitions of  that  abominable  system." 

"You  would  hardly  believe  it,  Sefton,  yet  I  actually  went  tc 
mass  almost  everyday  as  long  as  my  poor  mother  lived:  a  more 
kind,  a  more  indulgent  mother,  no  child  ever  had.  But  while 
she,  poor  dear  soul,  was  fumbling  her  beads,  and  mumbling  her 
QVCS,  I  stood  behind  her,  paying  my  fervent  devotions  to  the 
more  visible  deities  of  flesh  and  blood,  which  flitted  by  me  in  aii 
me  bloom  of  youth  and  loveliness.  Since  her  death,  I  do  noi 
Ihink  I  have  seen  the  interior  of  a  church  ;  in  fact,  no  man  of 
sense  goes  ,'o  church  now-a-days." 

Sexton  felt  deep  disgust  at  the  light  manner  with  which  Le 
S<ige  treated  religion  ;  but  regarding  it  as  the  natural  result  ol 
Popery,  and  feeling  thereby  doubly  proud  of  the  superior  purity 
Df  his  own  religion,  he  observed  that  it  was  but  natural  thru  he 
should  have  acted  thus,  for,  continued  he,  "1  am  not  in  the  leas! 
surprised  that  a  man  of  your  sound  sense,  and  blessed  with  the 
advantages  of  an  English  education,  should  be  satisfied  with  the 
empty  forms  of  your  national  church,  but  I  think  you  mig'ht 
hnve  found  some  rational  consolation  in  the  more  solid  service 
of  the  Protestant  temple." 

"Bali!  bah!"  exclaimed  Le  Sage;  "how  little  do  you  un- 
derstand the  activity  of  the  French  mind!  No  sooner  do  we 
take  leave  of  Notre  Dame,  than  we  seek  refuge  in  the  lempleof 
reason  and  universal  philanthropy.  No  he  If- way  housecnn  for 
a  moment  detain  us  in  our  ardent  career.  In  one  word.  Sel'ton, 
we  sec  intuitively  the  final  conclusions  of  your  admirable  prin- 
ciples; for,  to  do  you  justice,  we  cannot  but  allow  that  the' true 
principles  of  philosophy — independence  of  thought,  and  free- 
dom from  the  trammels  of  authoritv — passed  from  Britain  into 
France;  but  you  on  your  part  must  acknowledge, that  in  regen- 
erated France,  they  have  produced  the  most  abundant  fruits  " 

Se.ton  did  not  feel  flattered  at  this  compliment,  and  observed 
drily,  "  The  best  things  may  be  abused  when  carried  to  excess ; 
even  good  itself  in  that  way  may  be  perverted  into  evil.  Siiil  I 
cannot  see  how,  from  any  English  principle,  you  can  'educe 
French  infidelity." 

"  Nothing  more  logical,"  replied  Le  Sage.    '«  You  maintain 


IW  FATHER  OSWALD. 

lhat  it  is  (he  inalienable  right  of  man,  to  hold  and  express  his 
own  Tree  opinions  on  all  subjects,  religious  and  political :  nay 
more,  you  assert  that  no  man  can  believe  what  he  does  not  un- 
derstand; on  these  principles  you  very  justly  protested  againrt 
a  few  of  the  obsolete  dogmas  of  Catholicity  ;  we  protest  again.- 1 
them  all.  Thus  we  are  more  consistent  and  more  perfect  Prc- 
lestants  than  yourself;  so  that  if  the  orthodoxy  of  Protestantisn 
is  to  be  measured  by  the  extent  of  protestation,  we  are  the  mow 
orthodox  Protestants  on  the  face  of  the  earth." 

Edward  was  thunderstruck  at  hearing  such  language  from  his 
friend,— at  finding  infidelity  described  as  the  natural  consequence 
of  Protestant  principles:  but  he  found  himself  unprepared  to 
refute  the  reasons  of  Le  Sage.  What  he  had  just  heard  sur- 
prised him  the  more,  as  he  had  known  him  in  his  younger  days 
-rather  piously  inclined,  and,  as  he  then  thought,  too  much  at- 
'ached  in  secret  to  Catholic  superstitions;  and  far  too  scrupulous' 
in  declining  to  conform  to  the  Protestant  practices  of  devotion 
In  fact,  Le  Sage  had  received  a  pious  education  from  his  reli- 
gious parents ;  but  after  his  return  to  France,  he  had  fallen  Jnto 
the  company  of  the  gay,  vicious,  corrupted  youth  of  Paris ;  he 
'was  soon  whirled  away  in  the  vortex  of  reckless  dissipation ; 
his  conscience  for  a  while  reproached  him  ;  his  faith  held  out 
to  him  the  prospect  of  a  miserable  eternity,  and  haunted  him  in 
the  midst  of  his  pleasures  with  continued  terrors.  He  could 
bear  the  conflict  no  longer,  and  sought  every  means  to  free  him- 
self from  ihis  intolerable  burden.  Reasoning  from  some  of  those 
plausible  principles  which  he  had  imbibed  at  Cambridge,  with- 
out questioning  their  soundness,  he  drew  all  the  consequences ol 
the  French  sophists;  "he  made  shipwreck  of -the  faith,"  and 
soon  persuaded  himself  that  Revelation  was  a  fable,  as  repug- 
nant to  human  reason  as  subversive  of  the  noble  passions  whicl 
the  Creator  had  implanted  in  the  nature  of  man. 

When  Sei'ton  had  a  little  recovered  from  his  astonishment,  hr. 
asked  Lo  Sage,  if  he  had  really  become  a  deist. 

"  Deist  or  atheist,  call  me  what  you  will : — I  regard  such  ap- 
pellations merely  as  the  frothy  but  harmless  venom  of  expiring 
bigotty.  I  am  ambitious  only  of  the  name  of  philosopher ;  but 
corne,  I  must  show  you  the  lions  of  Paris.  You  have  been 
rusticating  too  long  in  your  northern  clime:  you  are  literally  an 
age  behind  the  world  in  your  ideas.  To-morrow  you  shall  dine 
wil'i  me  at  a  select  party,  L'vl.ic  dc  la  jc.une  Prance." 

"  1  am  much  obliged  to  you,  I  am  sure,"  said  Sefton,  "you  do 
me  too  much  honour." 

"  Not  in  Ihe  least,  my  good  friend,"  said  Le  Sage ;  "  our  din- 
ner hour  is  seven :  give  me  your  address,  and  I  will  call  for 


FATHEH  OSWALD.  Mi 

you  ;  lor  the  present  1  must  wish  you  good  morning,  as  I  have 
an  engagement  at  our  club/' 

The  two  friends  separated,  and  Sefton  strolled  on  in  melan- 
choly mood,  reflecting  deeply  on  what  he  had  heard,  and  seek- 
ing in  vain  for  some  reasonable  refutation  of  the  strange  svstein 
of  Le  Sage.  Since  his  residence  in  Paris  he  had  involuntarily 
heard  many  explanations  and  observations  on  the  Catholic  reli- 
gion, whicli  sometimes  raised  a  passing  thought,  whether  that 
system  had  not  more  claims  to  he  the  religion  founded  by  Christ 
than  Protestantism.  True  it  is,  that  these  intrusive  thoughts 
were  generally  rejected  with  disdain  ;  but  there  were  moments 
when  the  bare  idea  that  Protestantism  might  not  alter  all  be  the 
true  religion,  caused  him  intense  mental  irritation,  and  never 
before  had  he  felt  that  pang  more  acutely.  '•  Surely,"  thought 
be,  "  if  the  principles  of  Protestantism  lead  to  deiMn,  ;;s  they 
<cem  to  have  done  in  France,  there  must  be  .something  rotten  ;.t 
he  core  :"  he  rejected,  however,  this  ide.i  with  as  much  horror 
is  he  would  have  rejected  a  temptation  to  commit  some  dreadful 
•ci.tie.  It  was  too  humiliating  to  think  that  his  private  judg- 
A\enc  could  have  erred  soegregiously  in  a  matter  of  such  vital 
:  violent;  it  was  too  galling  to  sell-conceit  to  think  1'or  a  moment 
thai  ti.?  religion  lor  which  he  had  sacrificed  so  rnueh  that  was 
t  ear  i.o  his  heart,  might  have  been  the  work  of  Satan  and  notot 
'.iod;  he  therefore  concluded  that  the  infidelity  of  France  must 
fr)mehow  or  other  be  more  connected  with  Catholicity  than  with 
genuine  Protestantism,  although  he  could  not  yet  discover  the 
connection  ;  consequently,  he  hated  and  despised  the  Catholic 
fav'.h  more  than  ever,  and  did  all  in  his  power  to  thicken  the 
inict  of  prejudice  in  which  his  understanding  had  so  long  been 
enveloped.  The  evening  of  the  day  on  which  Sefton  renewed 
his  acquaintance  with  Le  Sage,  he  retired  to  rest  harassed  wiiii 
doults  and  difficulties  which  he  was  unr.ble  to  resolve:  noi 
could  all  his  efforts  to  combat  or  banish  the  subject  of  his  unea- 
siness procure  him  the  rest  and  tranquility  he  sought.  The  fol- 
lowing day,  as  the  hour  of  dinner  approached,  Le  Sage  drove 
to  Selioa's  lodging  and  took  him  in  his  cabriolet  to  the  hotel, 
which  was  the  place  of  rendezvous  to  which  he  had  invited  him. 
The  hotel  was  magnificent,  and  the  saloon  into  which  Sefton 
was  conducted  by  his  friend  was  furnished  in  the.  most  fashion- 
able and  luxurious  style.  There  they  (bund  assembled  atom 
forty  or  fi.lv  young  DIL'II  between  the  ;;ges  of  fifteen  and  twenty- 
five,  and  three  cr  four  others  of  more  mature  ngc,  who  seemed 
to  exercise  a  sort  of  tacit  superiority  over  the  rest.  They  were 
all  dressed  in  the  most  exquisite-  fashion,  and  the  whole  place 
auu  company  brogue d  iuxury  and  novelty.  Soon  after  the  usual 
13 


143  FATHER  OSWALD. 

introductions  and  ^ompliments  had  passed,  the  dinner  was  an 
nounced,  and  tht  coi.ij.any  were  soon  seated  in  the  dining-rccm 
at  a  splendid  banquet,  consisting  of  every  luxury  and  delicacy 
of  the  season,  prepared  under  the  inspection  of  the  first  artiste 
in  Paris.  Sefron  was  placed  at  the  right  hand  of  the  president, 
and  received  the  most  flattering  attentions  from  all  around  him. 
Several  toasts  were  given  and  drunk  with  the  greatest  enthu- 
siasm: "  Vive  la  i'unc  France"  "  Vive  la  Patri","  ''A  bus  lit 
CatoHf.,  d  bis  la  li/mnni.?."  As  the  wines  circulated,  the  con- 
versation became  more  animated  ,  they  talked  of  the  wonderful 
progress  of  civilization,  and  of  the  high  destinies  towards  which 
'Uie  European  nations  were  rapidly  advancing.  Sefton  listened 
with  conscious  pride  and  the  most  pleasing  satisfaction  to  the 
'high  encomiums  passed  on  the  free  institutions  of  England,  the 
.liberty  of  the  press,  and  the  freedom  of  thought  and  speech 
"which  that  favoured  people  enjoyed.  Ardent  were  the  aspirations 
and  fervent  were  the  vows  that  young  France  would  soon  equal 
•or  surpass  her.  With  animated  eloquence  Sefton'snew  friends 
explained  to  him  that  France  indeed  was  at  present  under  a 
•cloud,  a  hateful  dynasty  having  been  forced  upon  her  by  the 
'bayonets  of  foreign  nations;  hut  that  they  were  all  hope  and 
confidence  that  the  sun  of  liberty  would  again  break  forth. 
Some  late  measures  of  the  ministry  were  severely  criticised, 
unsparingly  condemned,  and  denounced  as  perfidious,  tending 
:to  the  suppression  of  public  opinion,  and  to  the  enslavement  of 
•the  press.  Sefton  expressed  a  little  dissent  of  opinion  ori  this, 
but  they  maintained  that  every  thing  that  had  been  done  for  the 
last  fifteen  years,  proved  demonstratively  a  plan  for  the  gradual 
restoration  of  ancient  despotism  and  bigotry.  These  liberal 
sentiments  met  with  a  warm  response  from  the  heart  and  lips 
of  Se  ton,  although  once  or  twice  his  high  notions  of  loyalty 
•were  not  a  little  startled  at  the  vulgar  abuse,  murmurs  of  dis- 
content, and  loud  menaces,  which  were  poured  out  on  the  de- 
voted head  of  Charles  Dix.  However,  he  soon  became  recon- 
•ciled  to  this  unceremonious  warmth  of  expression,  when  they 
had  convinced  him,  that  the  foolish  monarch  was  a  mere  tool 
of  the  i/artie-prelre ;  a  very  puppet  in  the  hands  of  an  ambitious 
and  intriguing  priesthood ;  that  Charles  himself  had  actually 
taken  orders,  and  said  mass  every  morning  privately  in  his 
•cabinet.  In  proof  of  the  fact,  or  at  least  of  the  public  opinion, 
some  five-franc  pieces  were  handed  about,  on  which  the  calnlle 
had  been  ingeniously  stamped  on  the  head  of  the  king.  Nay, 
•the  president  gravely  assured  Sefton,  that  Charles  X.  was  a 
Jesuit  in  disguise,  d  rob?,  courle.  Sefion's  blood  was  fired  si 
these  discoveries:  and  he  no  longer  hesitated  to  pronounce,  tn.ii 


FATHER  OSWALD.  143 

It  was  a  holy  cause  to  conspire  against  such  superstition  and 
tyranny.  He  was  assured  that  there  was  not  a  generous  young 
heart  in  France  that  did  not  ardently  long  for  the  moment  to 
shake  off  this  inlolerable  yoke ;  and  that  a  favourable  occasion  of 
manifesting  themselves  could  not  be  1'ar  distant.  The  party  at 
length  broke  up,  and  Sel'ton  received  pressing  invitations  to  the 
houses  of  the  most  distinguished  lenders  sf  the  sol  riifanl  liberals ; 
and  he  became,  in  a  little  time,  deeply  interested  and  involved 
in  their  machinations,  more  from  ignorance  of  the  fatal  conse- 
quences of  iheir  schemes  and  principles  than  from  malice  ot 
heart.  In  all  revolutions,  the  most  abandoned,  wicked,  and  idle 
characters,  are  ever  the  most  ready  to  join  ;  they  have  nothing 
to  lose,  and  their  want  of  religion  and  good  principle,  make 
them  totally  regardless  of  the  real  happiness  of  their  fellow-men. 
With  some  of  the  most  worthless  and  desperate  of  these  charac- 
ters did  Edward  connect  himself;  but  many  amongst  his  new 
associates  found  he  had  toj  much  belief  in  Revelation  for  their 
purposes,  and  therefore  they  endeavoured,  not  unsuccessfully, 
alas!  to  undermine  his  belief  in  Christianity.  Edward  con- 
stantly frequented  the  saloons  and  clubs,  and  there  he  met  with, 
infidels :  he  heard  their  blasphemies  against  Christ  and  his  re- 
ligion;— was  horror-struck,  and  attempted  to  refute  them  on 
Protestant  principles;  but  his  companions  laughed  at  him.  and 
showed  him  that  Protestant  principles  lead  logically  to  deism. 
He  appealed  to  his  Bible,  to  prove  the  Trinity  and  Incarnation ; 
the  deists  pointed  out  to  him  the  texts  by  which  Catholics  prove 
the  real  presence ;  these  he  rejected,  because  he  did  not  compre- 
hend the  mystery;  because  the  testimony  of  his  senses  deposed 
against  it:  his  deistical  companions  then  pointed  out  to  him, 
that  the  three  in  one,  and  one  in  three,  is  a  greater  mystery,  and 
more  contradictory  to  the  senses ;  that  a  God  suffering  and  dy- 
ing was  as  absurd  as  any  fable  of  ancient  mythology;  they  un- 
hesitatingly asserted,  that  the  very  idea  of  Revelation  is  absurd; 
the  great  Author  of  the  universe  having  endowed  man  with  free 
will  to  act,  and  having  given  him  reason  lor  his  guide,  there 
can  be  no  need  of  any  other  rule  of  conduct.  It  was  in  vain 
that  Sefton  observed,  that  reason  itself  dictates  to  us  the  justice 
and  obligation  of  submitting  our  judgment  and  will  to  the  su- 
preme reason  and  will  of  our  Creator.  They  urged  the  absurd- 
ity of  supposing  God  to  have  given  reason  to  man  for  his  guide 
and  then  to  have  given  him  Revelation  for  a  guide  which  de- 
stroyed the  former  one.  Sefton  replied,  that  the  second  and 
more  perfect  guide  dues  not  destroy  the  first,  but  perfects  it;  for 
by  original  sin  the  human  understanding  was  darkened,  ar.ri 
frep  will  impaired,  and  thai  therefore  Revelation  was  necessary 


144  FATHF.R  OSWAbU. 

toenlighiee  'he  onii  nnd  fortify  the  other.  "  Original  sin!"  re- 
plied the  dcistr  Jiieeringly,  bah  !  a  shallow  invention  of  the  dark 
ages;  the  "  understanding  darkened!1'  Why,  witness  the  noble 
efforts  it  has  exerted  in  these  latter  ages!  What  does  the  genius 
of  Newton  and  La  Place  owe  to  Revelation  7  and  yet  what  sub- 
lime mysteries  of  nature  have  they  not  opened  to  our  wonder- 
ing eyes  !  What  has  taught  the  modern  chemists  to  unravel  the 
most  hidden  secrets  of  nature? — The  unshackled  reason  of  man. 
This  it  is  which  has  taught  him  to  subdue  the  elements,  and 
::;ake  them  subservient  to  his  use  or  amusement;  to  impel  ilie 
rapid  stearn-boat  through  the  stormy  ocean,  as  to  employ  the 
same  wondrous  power  in  spinning  the  finest  gossamer.  Look  <<t 
these  stupenduous  triumphs  of  the  human  mind,  and  on  a  thou- 
sand others,  and  then  say  which  of  all  these.  Revelation  im- 
parted to  us.  The  human  mind  has,  indeed,  been  TOO  long  be- 
nighted, but  it  \vas  during  the  night  of  ignorance  and  supersti- 
tion ;  knowledge,  at  length,  shone  forth,  and  knowledge  has 
imparted  power. 

Seflon  was  not  prepared  to  answer  these  arguments.  It  did 
not  occur  to  his  mind  that  all  the  glorious  discoveries  ol  modern 
science  do  not  extend  beyond  the  limits  of  the  mulnrial  world, 
nor  advance  one  .step  into  the  .tpirii.nai  world.  They  disclose 
no  new  ray  of  the  divinity  ; — they  teach  us  nothing  of  our  ori- 
gin,— nothing  of  the  ultimate  term  of  our  creation  ; — nothing  of 
the  spirituality  and  immortality  of  the  humcn  soul :  they  explain 
not  the  war  of  passions  in  the  human  bte;:st,  nnd  afford  no  aid 
to  regulate  or  subdue  them.  Striking  facts  had  been  instanced, 
which  could  not  be  denied,  and  Sei'ton  was  too  enthusiastic  an 
admirer  of  the  progress  of  science  to  venture  a  reply.  His 
mind  was  confounded,  and  his  faith,  which  rested  on  his  own 
reason,  tottered  to  the  ground.  He  revolved,  in  his  own  mind, 
various  texts  of  the  Bible,  which  hitherto  had  appeared  to  him 
sufficiently  clear  on  the  foundation  of  Christianity,  the  original 
fall  of  man,  cl  cetera;  they  now  seemed  lo  him  obscure,  am- 
biguous, and  inconclusive.  He  would  still  have  hesitated  to 
acknowledge  himself  a  Deist;  but  if  he  had  dared  to  examine 
his  interior  sentiments,  he  would  have  found  that  he  was  nothing 
better  hence,  he  no  longer  refused  to  associate  with  the  im- 
pious, and  to  join  in  all  their  orgies,  profane  and  political;  he 
•nvolvcd  himself  deepiv  in  the  plots  of  the  revolution,  which 
>-,,ortly  after  exploded ;  he  took  up  arms  against  the  reigning 
dynasty,  and  distinguished  himself  during  the  sln-rivus  "  three 
days''  by  his  rashness  and  by  his  violence ;  feeling  a  sense  ol 
desperation  about  him  he  fought  recklessly.  Towards  the 
p.nd  of  the  third  -Jay  he  received  a  sabre  slash  on  the  lei't  arm 


FATHER  OSWALD.  145 

and  a  musket  shot  passed  through  his  right  shoulder,  while  in 
the  thickest  of  the  fray  on  the  Boulevard.  He  Tell  to  the  ground, 
and  was  soon  trampled  on,  and  nearly  stifled  by  heaps  of  dead 
and  dying;  his  wounds  bled  profusely  ,  ue  felt  a  sense  of  hope- 
less feebleness  creep  over  him;  the  roar  and  tumult  around 
seemed  gradually  to  fade  away  from  his  hearing  and  sight,  and, 
in  a  few  minutes,  Edward  Sei'ton  was  as  stiff,  and  cold,  and  in- 
sensible to  all  about  him,  as  were  the  green  trees  that  rejoiced 
in  the  bright  sun  above  him.  to  the  carnage,  fury,  rage  and  pas- 
sions  of  the  poor  human  beings  who  fought  so  wildly  and  so 
desperately  under  their  calm,  cool  shade. 


CHAPTER    XVIII. 

Oh  !  when  will  the  ages  of  faith  e'er  return, 

To  gladden  the  nations  again  ? 
Oh  !  when  shall  the  flarnr  of  sweet  Charity  burn, 

To  warm  the  cold  bosoms  of  men  ? 
When  the  angel  of  vengeance  hath  sheathed  his  sword, 

And  his  vials  have  drenched  the  land  ; 
When  the  pride  of  the  sophist  hath  bent  to  the  Lord, 

And  trembled  beneath  his  strong  hand. — FRAGMENT. 

How  o!t  have  the  enemies  of  faith  torn  the  bosom  of  France 
How  oft  have  the  unbelievers  and  the  impious  united  to  crush 
the  Catholic  religion,  and  to  destroy  the  churches  and  the  altars 
of  Jesus  crucified!  The  pride  of  the  sophist  cannot  understand, 
and  will  not  bow  to  the  humility  of  the  Cross;  still,  amidst  these 
bitler  blasts,  Providence  has  protected  the  scattered  and  humble 
followers  of  the  Man-God ;  and,  like  the  lowly  and  sweet-scented 
violet,  they  have  still,  unheeded  and  unperceived,  contrived  to 
cast  around  the  odour  of  their  good  works,  and  of  their  heroic 
endurance,  and  of  their  unshaken  belief.  Hope  whispers,  that 
the  spark  of  divine  faith,  which  has  been  almost  hidden  so  long, 
will  one  day  burst  forth  into  a  glorious  and  universal  blaze, 
which  will  scare  the  infidel  and  the  pro.'ane  from  the  !nnd,  and 
leave  religion  once  more  in  possession  of  France,  to  receive  to 
her  tender  bosom  her  erring  and  misled  children  ;  to  point  out 
to  them  the  path  of  happiness,  and  to 

"  Bind  the  hear;,  long  oroke  wi'.h  weeping." 

For  several  days  after  the  insurrec'ion,   Edward's  servani 
13* 


146  .ATHER  OSWALD. 

Luigi  continued  to  make  indefatigable  inquiries  after  his  mas- 
ter, hut  all  in  vain;  from  no  one  could  lie  obtain  the  slightest 
intelligence  about  him,  excepting  that  he  had  been  seen  in  the. 
c.onflict.  At  length  Luigi  came  to  the  conclusion  that  Mr.  Setton 
must  either  have  perished  in  the  general  slaughter,  or  have  left 
Paris,  and  had  probably  returned  to  England.  In  either  case, 
the  g-ood  valet  thought  he  could  not  do  better  than  to  take  his 
place  in  the  diligence,  and  return  as  soon  as  possible  to  London 
There,  again,  his  inquiries  were  vain.  He  then  hastened  to 
Eaglenest  Cottage  to  inquire  for  his  master,  and  not  finding  him 
at  his  own  house,  he  told  Miss  Sciton  all  he  knew  about  her 
brother,  which  dreadfully  frightened  and  agitated  her.  She  lost 
no  time  in  sending  an  express  to  Weetwooa,  thinking  he  might 
have  gone  there  on  the  excitement  of  the  moment,  if  by  chance 
he  had  escaped  in  safety.  But  he  was  not  at  Weetwood.  It  is 
impossible  to  describe  the  terror  and  anguish  of  Emma,  or  the 
anxiety  of  the  General.  Poor  Emma !  she  knew  not  but  thai 
she  might  be  at  that  moment  a  widow,  and  every  grief  and 
every  sorrow  bled  afresh.  .  .  .  And  where  was  Edward  1  Edward 
was  in  an  hospital  in  the  heart  of  Paris,  whither  he  had  been 
carried  along  with  the  rest  of  the  wounded;  and  there  he  lay 
gasping  between  life  and  death,  surrounded  by  the  sick  and 
dying,  some  of  whom  utiered  the  most  horrible  imprecations 
and  shrieks  of  despair.  His  bodily  sufferings  were  intense,  bul 
his  mental  agony  and  horror  were  a  thousand  times  more  acute 
and  intolerable.  When  he  recovered  from  his  swoon,  after  his 
removal  to  the  hospital,  his  first  effort  was  to  ieel  for  a  small 
miniature  of  Ernrna,  set  in  rubies,  which  he  always  wore  roum'. 
his  neck — it  was  gone;  his  watch  and  his  ring — her  gilts,  wet- 
also  gone.  "  O  my  God!"  exclaimed  he  bitterly,  "I  have  de- 
served this  !"  He  inquired  in  vain  for  them  of  the  attendants 
round  his  poor  pallet;  they  only  smiled,  and  sarcastically  ob- 
served that  these  trinkets  no  doubt  were  in  safe  keeping.  Re- 
monstrance was  in  vain,  nor  had  he  time  to  think  on  the  subject, 
for  he  heard  the  young  medical  students  observe  to  one  another, 
that  it  was  a  thousand  to  one  whether  he  would  recover  or  m.t. 
Death  was  before  his  eyes;  the  remembrance  of  his  wile  and 
children  pierced  his  heart  to  the  very  quick;  he  would  have 
given  worlds  to  have  had  his  injured  Emrna  by  his  side  in  that 
moment  of  bereavement;  the  thoughts  of  the  injustice  he  had 
offered  tc  her  conscience  by  denying  her  that  liberty  which  rvery 
Protestant  claims  to  himself,  and  by  causing  her  the  grief  and 
•sufferings  he  had  done,  were  daggers  to  his  very  soul.  i\.~>.v 
tiifferenfly  do  we  see  things  at  the  hour  of  death  to  what  w.  .V 
in  health,  arid  in  the  ordinary  routine  of  daily  life!  those  \.\.\Y 


FATHER  OSWALD.  147 

who  nave  experienced  this  can  know  and  feel  how  strikingly 
true  it  is.  Sel'ton  continued  hoping  I'or  several  days  that  some 
of  his  new  associates  would  come  to  see  him,  but  they  came 
not;  not  even  Le  Sage,  though  an  old  friend,  made  his  appear- 
ance Surely,  thought  Edward,  our  old  intimacy,  so  lately  re- 
newed wim  everj  expression  of  eternal  attachment,  ought  to 
have  taught  him  some  compassion  for  one  who  is  suffering  on 
h.'s  account,  in  a  common  hospital,  in  a  strange  country,  and 
far  removed  from  any  dearer  connection.  Were  all  his  assu- 
rances unmeaning,  hollow,  deceitful?  Alas!  what  avails  us 
(he  friendship  of  this  world,  if  we  are  deprived  of  il  in  the  hour 
of  our  greatest  distress  1  Perhaps  Le  Sage  himself  has  perished  ! 
cut  ofF  in  his  inridelity,  with  all  his  sins  upon  his  head  !  Oh  ! 
it  is  horrible  to  think  upon.  And  1  also  doomed  to  share  the 
same  fate!  God  have  mercy  on  my  poor  soul!  In  the  mean- 
time Sefton  got  worse  ;  the  thought  of  God  and  eternity  haunter! 
his  mind,  but  he  could  not  feel  the  consolations  of  faith,  for  he 
no  longer  believed.  He  wished  to  believe,  but  he  could  not ;  he 
Knew  not  what  to  believe;  his  anguish  became  extreme.  He 
entreated  those  around  him  to  give  him  a  Bible — but  the  infidels 
had  their  emissaries  even  there,  and  instead  of  a  Bible  they  put 
into  his  hands  the  impious  and  ribald  comments  of  Voltaire  on 
the  sacred  text.  .  .  .  He  reads,  and  his  horrors  increase.  O  God  ! 
he  knows  not  which  way  to  turn  his  terror-stricken  heart ;  he 
sees  no  ray  of  comfort  or  hope,  either  for  this  world  or  the  next 
....  his  tortured  and  weakened  frame  sinks  under  the  intense 
agony  of  mental  anguish ;  despair  seizes  him,  and  in  a  few 
hours  more  he  is  in  the  wild  frenzy  of  a  dreadful  delirium. 
For  many  long  days  and  tedious  nights  he  hung  between  lire 
and  death,  insensible  to  all  external  impressions,  his  soul  and 
brain  racked  wilh  remorse,  and  with  appalling  and  hideous 
ravings  about  God,  His  awful  judgments,  and  a  never-ending 
eternity  of  endless  and  unutterable  woes.  ...  At  length  the  God 
of  all  mercy  had  compassion  on  his  poor,  suffering  creature. 
The  physicians  consulted,  and  administered  a  powerful  opiate 
to  produce  a  crisis  of  sleep,  which  for  fifteen  days  had  not  closed 
his  wearied  eye-lids;  it  was  a  desperate  remedy,  either  to  kill 
or  cure.  Ten  minutes  after  he  hsd  laken  it,  he  closed  his  lurid 
and  raving  eye.  and  his  throbbing  and  beating  brow  sunk  calm 
and  tranquil  on  the  pillow.  Poor  Edward !  he  slept  in  peace 
nnd  balmy  tranquillity  for  several  hours.  When  he  awoke  the 
lever  had  left  him  ;  he  gaxed  around  him  with  a  vacant  eye,  as 
if  trying  to  recollect  where  he  was;  he  sav/  that  he  was  in  a 
smali  but  neatly  whitewashed  room  ;  the  partitions  which  formed 
the  walls  did  not  reach  to  the  ceiling  nor  to  the  bottom.  There 


14^  FATHER  OSWALD. 

was  a  window  opposite  to  his  bed,  the  casement  of  which  was 
open,  and  the  freshness  of  the  morning  air  circulated  through 
'he  little  apartment:  seated  near  the  window  he  beheld  a  slightly- 
formed  female  figure,  dressed  in  a  religious  habit,  with  a  crucifix 
fastened  to  her  girdle;  the  folds  of  a  black  gauze  veil  concealed 
her  countenance  as  she  leaned  over  a  book  on  her  knees,  which 
she  was  intently  perusing.  Edward  endeavoured  to  raise  him- 
self in  his  bed,  but  he  ibund  he  could  not  move;  the  unnatural 
strength  produced  by  fever  had  left  him  ;  he  was  weak  and  help- 
less as  an  infant.  The  rustling  he  made  in  attempting  to  move, 
caused  the  Sister  of  Charity,  lor  such  she  was,  to  turn  her  face 
towards  him;  she  was  of  a  fair  and  delicate  complexion,  with 
large,  expressive  blue  eyes,  lit  up  by  a  touching  and  sublime 
tinge  of  tenderness  and  devotion,  but  shaded  and  tempered  by 
the  modesty  of  their  long  dark  lashes.  She  rose  and  advanced 
quietly  towards  the  bed. 

"  Do  you  i'eel  yourself  a  little  better  now  7"  said  she,  in  a 
compassionate  and  soothing  tone. 

"  Where  am  17"  exclaimed  Edward,  still  more  bewildered  at 
hearing  himself  addressed  in  his  mother-tongue. 

"  You  are  with  those  who  will  take  care  of  you,  and  will  not 
suffer  you  to  be  neglected  nor  abandoned,"  said  Sister  Angela, 
in  accents  of  kindness;  ''but  you  have  been  ill,  very  ill,  and  we 
must  thank  God  that  the  fatal  crisis  is  past." 

She  knelt  down  by  the  bed-side,  and  uttered  aloud  a  fervent 
nrayer  of  thanksgiving  to  God  and  the  Blessed  Virgin  for  the 
amelioration  which  had  taken  place.  Edward  joined  in  it  with 
all  his  heart,  and  as  the  sister  rose  from  her  knees,  he  looked 
lixedly  and  earnestly  in  her  face,  and  said,  "Give  me,  I  entreat 
you,  something  to  allay  my  thirst." 

There  was  a  jug  of  barley- water  on  the  little  table  by  the  bed, 
and  she  began  to  pour  some  of  it  into  a  glass. 

"Give  me  the  jug,"  said  Edward,  in  a  languid  voice. 

Sister  Angela  held  it  to  his  lips,  and  called  at  the  same  time 
to  a  person,  who  then  appeared  atone  of  the  open  divisions  at 
the  bottom  of  the  room.  This  was  a  stout-looking  lay  sister, 
somewhat  advanced  in  years,  with  a  most  benevolent  counte- 
nance. At  a  sign  from  Sister  Angela,  she  quietly  raised  Ed- 
ward's head,  so  that  he  could  drink  conveniently;  he  emptied 
the  jug  at  one  draught,  and  then  instantly  sunk  back  into  another 
pro  ouml  slumber.  He  dreamt  of  peace  and  domestic  happi- 
ness :  he  thought  he  was  in  his  own  beautiful  woods  at  Set  ton. 
and  th;it  Emma  was  giving  him  to  drink,  water  from  the  coolest 
fountains,  and  that  his  little  ones  were  gathering  him  grapes  and 
fruits  During  the  height  of  his  delirium,  Edward  had  been 


FATHER  OSWALD.  1-19 

removed  i,,  the  fever  \vard  of  the  fame  hospital,  for  his  frantic 
ravings  disturbed  those  who  were  recovering  from  their  wounds 
The  lever  ward  was  more  especially  under  the  care  of  the  Sis- 
ters of  Charity,  and  the  greatest  attention,  both  to  soul  and  body, 
was  paid  to  the  patients  under  their  care,  by  these  admirable 
and  heroic  females.  Under  the  direction  of  his  compassionate 
and  skilful  nurses,  Edward's  convalescence  continued  to  make 
favourable  progress,  and  in  the  coarse  of  a  week,  he  was  able 
to  sit  up  a  little  in  his  bed,  and  the  wound  in  the  le't  arm  was 
nearly  healed.  During  this  week,  he  had  gradually  recovered 
the  recollection  of  all  that  had  occurred  before  his  delirium. 
As  he  regained  strength,  Sister  Angela  observed  that  he  seemed 
daily  to  become  more  uneasy  in  his  mind ;  he  o.'ten  sighed 
deeply,  and  wouid  sometimes  put  wild  and  incoherent  questions 
to  her  about  religion,  and  belief  in  Revelation;  frequently,  too, 
when  slumbering,  he  would  utter  the  name  of  Emma,  and  call 
upon  his  children.  Sister  Angela  was  an  English  lady  of  good 
family,  who  had  very  young  embraced  a  religious  life,  and 
dedicated  herself  to  the  service  of  Jesus  crucified,  in  serving  His 
sick  members.  She  had  been  sent  by  her  superiors,  on  ?otne 
business,  to  Paris,  and  while  serving  in  the  hospital  there,  heard 
that  there  was  then  in  it  an  Englishman,  severely  wounded  and 
dying;  she  was  sent  to  visit  him,  as  in  his  ravings  he  spoke 
nothing  but  English,  and  the  attendants  on  the  wounded  gladly 
accepted  her  proposal,  to  t?,ke  the  charge  of  nursing  him  in  the 
fever  ward.  This  was  all  she  knew  of  Edward's  history,  but 
she  by  degrees  endeavoured  to  gain  his  confidence,  in  hopes  of 
being  able  to  alleviate  the  weight  of  woe.  which  seemed  to  press 
on  his  heart.  She  so  far  succeeded,  that  ere  a  fortnight  elapsed, 
he  had  related  to  her  his  whole  story.  She  soothed  and  com- 
forted him,  and  raised  his  hopes  to  brighter  days,  telling  him. 
that  now  as  he  had  experienced  a  little  of  the  horrors  of  infi- 
delity, he  would  more  readily  turn  with  true  repentance  to  his 
God.  He  half  promised  to  examine  carefully  the  Catholic  re- 
ligion, and  to  write  to  Emma.  Though  Sister  Angela  perceived 
that  whenever  she  pressed  these  subjects  a  little,  there  was  a 
fierce  working  of  passions  still  in  his  breast,  yet  she  continued, 
with  firm  and  undaunted  charity,  to  urge  him  to  write  kindly  to 
his  wile. 

"If  you  will  write  a  few  affectionate  lines,"  said  she,  "  I  will 
narrate  to  her,  in  a  postscript,  how  ill  you  have  been,  and  how 
favourable  your  convalescence  is  going  on  ;  you  will  feel  much 
more  peace  in  your  mind  when  you  have  done  so." 

"  Well,  I  will  do  so  then/'  said  Edward  still  hesitating  j  "  bu? 
will  not  Emma  think  il  odd  to  hear  from  you  V 


150  FATHER  OSWALD. 

"Oh!  no."  answered  Sister  Angela,  smiling,  as  she  placed 
the  writing  materials  on  his  bed :  "  your  good  and  excellent 
wife  will  require  no  apology  for  an  act  of  Christian  charity,  and 
1  promise  you  I  will  say  nothing  about  the  events  which  brought 
you  here — you  shall  read  what  I  write." 

"  Oh  !  no,  no,"  replied  Edward,  half  ashamed — "  I  am  quite 
satisfied,  I  assure  you." 

The  letter  was  written,  and  it  was  a  very  affectionate  one, 
and  it  expressed  that  his  sentiments  towards  Catholics  individ- 
ually, were  much  changed.  There  was  enough  in  it  to  console 
Emma  greatly  in  her  agonizing  uncertainty  and  bereavement; 
but  there  was  not  enough  to  give  her  any  hopes  that  his  preju- 
dices towards  the  Catholic  religion  ilself  were  in  any  material 
degree  changed.  Sister  Angela  added  her  postscript,  and  then 
prepared  to  send  the  letter  to  the  post  office. 

"  I  certainly  feel  much  relieved."  said  Edward,  as  he  gave  it 
into  her  hand.  "  Poor  Emma!  I  have  often  been  sorry  I  wrote 
tnat  last  harsh  letter  to  her.'1 

''  You  have  done  what  you  can,  now,  to  atone  for  any  litll-ii 
unkindness  you  may  have  expressed  to  her  before,"  said  Sister 
Angela ;  <:  and  I  think  that  you  will  ere  long  give  her  more  solid 
subject  for  consolation :  therefore,  remain  in  peace,  and  trust  IP 
God." 

"  Oh  !  no;  I  shall  never  be  a  Catholic,"  said  he,  with  an  in- 
credulous smile,  "  if  that  is  what  you  mean." 

"  You  think  so  now,  no  doubt,"  replied  Sister  Angela ;  "but 
make  no  rash  resolutions.  The  hand  of  God  is  not  shortened, 
and  I  cannot  persuade  myself  that  He  has  delivered  you  so  mi- 
raculously from  the  most  imminent  death  unless  He  had  other 
graces  in  store  for  you.  All  I  ask  of  you  is,  not  to  resist  these 
graces,  and  then  1  fear  not  the  result." 

Sefton  was  touched  with  this  observation,  and  replied,  \vitu 
great  emotion,  '•'  I  trust  I  shall  be  ever  more  faithful  to  the  calls 
of  my  God." 

"  I  ask  no  more  from  you  at  present." 

"  How  good  God  has  been,"  said  Sefton,  with  a  sigh,  "  lo  de- 
liver me  from  this  abyss  of  misery;  how  little  I  have  deserved 
it !  How  can  I  ever  requite  it  ?" 

"  1  think,"  said  the  nun,  "-there  is  one  to  whom,  under  God, 
J3U  are  most  indebted  for  this  mercy." 

"To  whom  V  asked  Seiton  eagerly. 

"  To  your  wife  ;  to  whose  pious  prayers  and  tears  God  has 
Jent  a  willing  ear." 

Sefton  hid  his  face  for  contusion  beneath  Ihe  clothes,  and 
sobbed  audibly.  After  a  few  minutes,  he  again  raised  his  coun- 


FATHER  OSWALD.  }.*>! 

tenance,  trained  in  tears;  but  Sister  Angela  had  already  left  the 
room,  and  Edward  could  only  say  to  himself,  '•  Oh  !  that  I  had 
the  calm  conscience  and  the  peace  of  mind  of  that  truly  angelic 
lieing !"  He  turned  round  to  arrange  his  pillows,  and,  in  so 
doing,  he  observed  that  his  nurse  had  inadvertently  left  on  the 
table  near  him,  a  little  black  book,  in  which  sheo!ten  read  fora 
longtime.  He  had  frequently  wished  to  know  what  this  book 
was,  but  his  respect  for  her  had  prevented  him  asking  her.  He 
eageriy  look  it  up  :  it  was  "  The  Imitation  of  Christ."  Edward 
had  never  before  seen  it ;  he  opened  it  with  avidity,  and  his  as- 
tonishment increased  as  he  read,  and  felt  the  unction  of  thai 
precious  book  penetrate  his  soul. 

"Can  you  lend  me  this  beautiful  little  book  V  said  he  to  Sister 
Angela,  as  soon  r.s  she  7'eturned  in  the  evening  to  put  things  in 
order  lor  him,  before  she  went  to  her'convent  !or  the  night. 

"Certainly,  if  you  wish  it,"  answered  she;  it  is  a  wonderful 
little  took,  and  contains  most  sublime  lessons  of  Christian  per- 
fection, and  profound  sentiments  of  true  philosophy  " 

"  May  I  ask.  Sister  Angela,  what  is  that  large  book  I  have 
seen  you  sometimes  read,  when  you  have  done  what  is  to  be 
done  so  kindly  in  the  room,  and  think  I  am  going  to  sleep." 

"  Oh,  that  is  my  office  book,"  said  she  gaily. 

"  What  is  an  office  book  V 

•'  It  is  composed  of  the  book  of  Psalms  and  select  lessons 
from  the  Holy  Scripture,  with  several  hymns  and  prayers:  these 
we  religious  have  to  say  daily;  all  the  clergy  have  an  obligation 
of  saying  it  also." 

"Really."  said  Edward,"!  did- not  think  Catholics  had  so 
much  to  do  with  the  Bible." 

Sister  Angela  laughed ;  she  and  the  lay  sister,  Sceur  Clotilde. 
were  dressing  the  gun-shot  wound  in  his  shoulder,  or  perhaps 
Edward  might  have  laughed  also. 

"Well,"  added  he,  when  they  had  finished,  "you  Catholics 
do  certainly  say  a  great  many  prayers,  and  take  a  great  deal  ol 
pains  to  get  to  Heaven ;  but  do  you  not  feel  that  the  life  you 
have  chosen  is  a  very  hard  one  7" 

"  Oh !  no,  no,"  answered  she  with  enthusiasm ;  "  I  find  no 
hardships  in  »t;  the  love  of  God  sweetens  every  thing;  and  be- 
sides/' added  she,  crossing  her  hands  gracefully  over  her  breast, 
"  I  have  a  peace  and  joy  here,  which  the  world  can  neither  givo 
nor  take  away." 

Edward  was  sensibly  affected,  when  Sister  Angela  and  het 
companion,  kindly  wishing  him  good  evening,  left  him  in  the 
care  of  the  person  appointed  to  watch  during  the  night,  and  re- 
mrned  to  their  convent. 


152  FATHER  OSWALD. 


CHAPTER    XIX. 

"  There  are  more  things  in  Heaven  and  earth,  Horatio, 
Then  e'er  were  dieamt  of  in  thy  philosophy." — SHAKSPEAHE. 

ONE  day,  while  Edward's  convalescence  was  making  ita  te- 
dious progress,  the  governor  of  the  hospital  carne  into  his  room, 
and  told  him  there  was  a  tall,  elderly  gentleman,  wearing  an 
order,  of  the  name  of  La  Harpe,  who  wished  to  speak  to  him. 
Edward  desired  he  might  be  admitted.  When  La  Harpe  saw 
him,  he  was  so  struck  with  the  ravages,  sickness  had  made  ir, 
his  appearance,  that  he  could  not  help  testifying  his  surprise  by 
ai\  involuntary  start.  Edward  held  out  his  hand  to  him.  "  This 
is  kind  in  you — very  kind."  said  he,  "to  come  arid  see  the  poor 
wounded  man  ;  it  is  more  than  I  have  deserved  from  you,  Mon- 
sieur La  Harpe,"  added  he,  with  evident  emotion. 

"  Oh,  I  should  have  been  with  you  long  ;  go,  could  I  but  have 
found  you.  I  have  sought  you,  and  inquired  alter  you  in  so 
many  piaces,"  answered  La  Harpe;  "and  now  that  I  have  the 
happiness  of  finding  you  alive,  be. ore  I  hear  your  story,  I  must 
disch;.rge  my  conscience  of  a  trust  which  has  been  reposed 
in  it." 

Saying  this,  he  drew  from  his  breast,  a  small  packet,  and 
placed  it  in  Edward's  hand;  "That,"  said  he,  '•  is  your  prop- 
erty, or  I  am  much  mistaken  ;  you  once  showed  it  to  me  in  hap- 
pier days." 

"  O  my  God  !"  exclaimed  Edward — "  it  is  the  lost  miniature 
of  my  beloved  Emm  j  ;"  and  he  kissed  it  rapturously,  and  pressed 
it  to  his  heart.  "  I  never  thought  I  should  see  it  again  :  and  the 
rubies,  too,  are  all  untouched!  But  how  could  it  have  fallen 
into  your  hands'!" 

"You  must  ask  no  questions,"  said  his  friend.  "  I  can  only 
tell  this  much  :  it  was  given  to  me  by  a  poor  missionary  priest, 
who  knew  I  was  acquainted  with  you;  he  received  it,  in  con- 
fession, from  a  person  since  dead  of  his  wounds,  who  was  deeply 
implicated  in  the  late  commotion." 

"  If  restitution  of  ill-gotten  goods  is  a  fruit  of  confession.  1 
am  sure  I  feel  the  benefit  of  it  at  present,"  said  Edward,  smiling. 

"  No  Catholic  priest  can  grant  absolution  to  his  penitent  with- 
out such  restitution,"  answered  Monsieur  La  Harpe  :  "  but  tell 
me  now  all  that  has  happened  to  you  since  we  parted." 

Edward  then  detailed  all  his  miseries  and  adventures,  touch- 
ing, however,  as  lightly  as  he  could  upon  his  connection  with  his 
dcistieal  friends,  and  not  failing  to  abuse  them  most  vehemently 


FATHER  OSWALD.  153 

for  naving  at  such  a  time  completely  abandoned  him.  "  Hr.d  it 
not  been  !or  that  angel,  the  Sister  of  Charity,"  added  he.  ;'God 
knows  I  should  have  been  laid  low  enough  by  this  time." 

"What  could  you  expect  from  infidels  1"  said  La  IL.rpe  in- 
dignantly :  "  in  no  circumstances  can  one  place  reliance  on  any, 
but  on  those  actuated  by  motives  of  pure  religion.  But  you 
must  now  be  removed  from  the  hospital,  and  made  more  com- 
lortable." 

"  No,  no,"  said  Edward ;  "  I  would  rather  remain  where  I  am, 
til  I  urn  able  to  rise;  but  jMonsieur  La  Harpe  could  do  me  a 
greet  kindness  by  sending  10  my  old  lodgings  in  the  Rue  de  la 
Paix  ior  my  seivant,  and  bidding  him  bring  my  clothes  and 
the  other  things  belonging  to  me.  Were  it  not  lor  the  coarse 
but  clean  linen  with  which  the  liberality  and  charity  o;  this 
hospital  have  furnished  me,"  said  he,  pointing  to  the  homely 
materials  with  which  he  was  surrounded,  "  I  should  have  been 
badly  off  indeed." 

"  I  will  go  instantly,"  said  La  Harpe,  rising,  "  and  will  return 
this  evening  with  your  servant,  if  he  is  to  be  found — I  am  sur- 
prised he  has  not  yet  visited  you — and  you  shall  have  all  your 
things,  if  possible." 

He  accordingly  went  to  the  lodging,  and  found  that  the  servant 
tiad  departed  :  but  the  landlord  had  sealed  up  all  Edward's  effects 
until  he  could  by  more  diligent  inquiry,  ascertain  how  he  was 
to  dispose  of  them.  He  accompanied  Monsieur  La  Harpe  to 
the  hospital,  where  in  the  pale  and  altered  Ed  ward  he  recognized 
his  former  lodger.  By  the  kind  and  attentive  influence  of  his 
friend,  Edward  was  soon  supplied  with  many  of  those  little  ne- 
cessaries and  comforts  which  so  materially  aid  the  advancement 
of  convalescence;  he  called  to  see  bitn  almost  daily,  and  brought 
him  newspapers  and  works  of  literature  to  divert  his  tedium. 
Sef'on  felt  very  grateful,  and  though  they  often  talked  on  reli- 
gion, his  tone  wt.s  much  less  offensive  to  the  ears  of  La  Harpe 
-ban  it  used  to  be.  One  day  he  even  went  so  far  as  to  say — 

"  I  have  often  felt,  my  dear  La  Harpe,  during  this  my  severe 
'illness,  very  sorry  for  the  things  I  have  scid  to  you  abo'ut  your 
rt-ligion  ;  but  do  not  think  it  is  that  I  like  it  a  bit  better  than  I 
did — no,  certainly  not ;  but,  somehow  or  other,  though  Catholics 
are  really  much  more  inflexible  in  matters  of  faith  than  those  of 
other  creeds,  still  I  think  they  are  more  individually  compassion- 
ate and  tolerant  toward  their  fellow-men  than  we  are." 

':  That  is  the  practical  effect  of  their  religion,"  said  La  Harpe : 
"  \ve  condemn  the  error,  but  pity  and  cherish  the  individual  who 
jus  the  misfortune  to  be  deluded  by  it." 

0  Yes"  said  Edward  musing ;  '"it  must  certainly  be  the  daily 
14 


Ii>4  FATHER  OSWALD. 

earnestness  about  religion,  and  the  real  Christian  virtues  I  havt 
seen  practised  by  some  Catholics, — many  oi'  them  virtues,  too, 
very  painful  lor  human  nature  to  practise,  which  I  candidly  own 
have  m;;cie  me  think  with  less  disgust  than  I  used  to  do  ol'  thai 
religion." 

"  Well,"  said  his  friend,  laughing,  "  we  shall  certainly  not 
die  of  vanity,  in  consequence  of  the  magnitude  of  your  conces- 
sions." 

Sel'ton  co'oured  a  little,  and  sighed. 

"  We  learn  our  practical  lessons  of  charity  and  Christianity," 
continued  La  Harpe,  (without  noticing  his  emotion,)  "from the 
study  o.  our  crucifix,  and  we  find  there  fill  the  lessons  we  need." 

"  I  lu-ve  ol'ten  thought,  my  good  friend,  do  you  know,"  said 
Sel'ton,  looking  at  him  earnestly.  "  that  I  would  make  a  serious 
study  of  the  different  existing  religions;  but,  somehow  or  other, 
my  mind  is  so  unhinged  now.  I  don't  know  what  to  say." 

"  As  a  Protestant,  you  know,  you  are  bound  to  inquire,  and 
to  examine.  As  I  understand  it,  you  ought  to  take  nothing  on 
credit;  beinir  accountable  ibr  your  individual  opinion,— Jailk  I 
cannot  call  it." 

"  It  is  astonishing  what  odd  ideas  you  French  people  have  of 
Protestantism,"  said  Edward,  with  a  sardonic  smile  ;  "  but  the 
subject  makes  me  sad,"  added  he,  unwilling  to  acknowledge  the 
exact  state  of  his  feelings.  "  Tell  me  how  things  are  getting  on, 
and  what  is  the  news  of  the  day." 

La  Harpe  detailed  to  him  the  progress  of  events,  and  con- 
cluded by  expressing  his  fear  lor  the  consequences  of  the  agi- 
tated state  of  his  poor  country.  "  Alas !  you  yourself  have  seen," 
said  he,  "some  of  the  deistical  and  unprincipled  vultures  who 
are  gnawing  at  her  vitals;  it  will  not  be  their  fault  if  religion  is 
not  destroyed,  and  anarchy  and  confusion  do  not  again  overspread 
the  land.  The  same  infidel  and  blasphemous  maxims  were 
promulgated  by  those  who  paved  the  way  lor  the  awful  revolu- 
tion of  '92;  and  who  can  answer  that  the  consequences  may 
110  be  most  frightful  at  present  1" 

'  Not  so  bad  as  that,  my  good  friend,"  said  Edward ;  "  your 
ideas  are  too  highly  wrought,  though  I  will  acknowledge  to  you, 
that  what  I  have  seen  of  that  sort  of  society  has, — more  espe- 
cially on  reflection, — caused  me  both  surprise  and  horror;  and  I, 
as  a  most  warm  and  sincere  patriot,  would  rather  die,  than 
see  the  British  throne  surrounded  by  such  unbelieving  blas- 
phemers as  I  have  met  with  since  I  came  to  Paris.  Still,  we 
must  not  condemn  all  indiscriminately,  nor  consider  every  liberal 
idea  as  an  innovation;  we  must  allow  :  La  jeur.e  France1  to 


FATHER  OSWALD.  153 

show  a  little  spirit;  and  remember,  too,  that  the  school  master  is 
abroad." 

"I  hope  I  shall  never  Iiv3  to  see  the  consequences  of  the 
spirit  of  'La  jeune  France.'"  said  La  Harpe  desponding!)' ; 
"there  are  manv  wise  and  excellent  people  who  predict  no  good 
of  it." 

"Silly  apprehensions,  my  good  friend !  Some  of  these  excel- 
lent and  wise  people  are  the  most  timorous  foreboders  in  the 
world.  What  can  they  know  about  it  7  Experience  has  surely 
laught '  La  jeune  France'  rot  to  go  too  far,  but  to  prune  the  tree 
Without  roofing  it  up." 

"  Time  will  show,"  said  La  Harpe.  "  There  is  a  Providence 
over  every  thing;  and  we  may  form  a  pretty  correct  idea  of  what 
is  to  come,  by  \vhrt  has  been.  But,  alas!  one  of  the  peculiar 
characteristics  of  this  enlightened  generation  is,  the  materialism 
which  denies  all  supernatural  agency  and  interference  of  an  ac- 
tive Providence  in  the  affairs  of  men." 

"  My  dear  Monsieur  La  Harpe,  do  not  be  superstitious,  for 
God's  sake,"  exclaimed  Edward  with  energy;  "I  really  gave 
you  credit  for  more  sense  !" 

"  Selton,"  said  La  Harpe  quietly,  "  have  you  ever  heard  ol 
a  celebrated  prophetic  conversation  which  took  place  a  little 
before  that  terrible  revolution  which  so  many  enlightened  men 
had  foreseen  and  announced  7" 

"  No,"  said  Edward  ;  "  I  dare  say  it  was  some  old  woman's 
twaddle,  or  some  vile  priestcraft,  published  to  mislead  the  sim- 
ple;"  but  seeing  his  friend  looked  hurt,  he  added,  "Come, 
La  Harpe,  let  me  have  it — it  will  serve  to  while  away  an  hour." 

"  Oh  !  it  is  nothing  lo  jest  about,"  answered  La  Harpe,  dash- 
ing a  tear  hastily  away  from  his  expressive  light-blue  eye ;  "it 
was  related  to  me  by  m}-  celebrated  namesake  and  relative  after 
he  had  become  a  sincere  convert:  being  himself  present  when 
it  occurred.  He  often  said  that  the  impression  this  conversation, 
which  I  am  going  to  tell  you,  made  upon  him,  was  as  vivid  as  if 
he  had  heard  it  but  the  previous  day,  though  it  took  place  at  the 
beginning  of  the  year  1788." 

"  Then  an  eye-witness  related  it  to  your  relation  7"  said 
Sefton. 

"  No,  he  heard  it  himself,"  answered  La  Harpe,  musing:  "it 
occurred  at  a  grand  dinner  given  by  one  of  the  academicians,  a 
person  of  distinction,  and  a  man  of  talent.  This  dinner  con- 
sisted of  a  mixed  and  numerous  society  of  courtiers,  lawyer:, 
literati,  academicians,  and  other  distinguished  characters. 
Every  thing  was,  as  usual,  in  the  greatest  luxury,  while  the 
most  pxouisiie  wines  added  to  the  conviviality  of  gooi  society 


I5G 

that  sort  of  liberty  in  which  its  tone  is  not  always  preserved. 
At  that  time  the  world  was  so  little  fastidious,  that  every  thing 
which  might  occasion  mirth  was  permitted.  Chamforl  was  one 
of  the  party,  and,  to  use  my  relation's  words,  had  just  read  some 
of  his  impious  and  libertine  tales,  to  which  even  the  high-born 
ladies  there  present  listened  without  having  recourse  to  their  fans. 
Thence  followed  a  deluge  of  witticisms  on  religion.  One  per- 
son cited  a  trait  from  'La  Pucelle,'  another  recalled  and  ap- 
plauded the  philosophical  verses  of  Diderot: 

'  Et  ties  hoyaux  du  dernier  pretrr, 
Serrez  le  cou  du  dernier  roi ' 

A  third  rose,  and  holding  a  bumper  in  hi*  hand,  exclaimed,  'Yes, 
gentlemen,  I  am  as  certain  that  there  is  no  God,  as  I  am  certain 
Homer  was  a  Ibol ;'  and,  in  fact,  he  was  quite  as  sure  ot  one  as 
lie  was  of  the  other.  The  conversation  then  became  more  se- 
rious, and  every  one  expatiated  with  enthusiastic  admiration  on 
the  revolution  affected  by  Voltaire,  all  agreeing  that  his  most 
glorious  title  to  distinction  was  Ibunded  on  that.  '  Yes,'  con- 
tinued they  triumphantly,  '  it  is  he  who  has  given  the  spirit  to 
his  age.  He  has  diffused  his  works  through  the  anteroom  as 
well  as  in  the  cabinet.'  One  of  the  guests  related  an  anecdote 
of  his  barber,  who,  while  he  was  powdering  him,  exclaimed, 
1  Depend  upon  it,  Sir,  though  I  am  but  a  poor  devil  of  a  barber, 
I  have  not  a  bit  more  religion  than  any  one  else.'  The  company 
then  came  to  the  conclusion  that  the  consummation  of  the  revo- 
lution could  not  be  far  distant;  because  it  was  certain  that  super- 
stition and  fanaticism  must  give  place  to  philosophy,  and  they 
cooly  calculated  the  probabilities  of  the  precise  period  of  that 
epoch,  and  who  out  cf  the  company  present  would  live  to  see 
the  reign  of  Reason.  The  old  complained  that  they  could  not 
flatter  themselves  so  far  as  to  expect  to  see  it,  and  the  young  re- 
joiced that  there  was  every  probable  hope,  at  least,  for  them. 
They  congratulated  the  Academy  especially,  as  having  been  the 
stronghold,  centre,  and  promoter  of  liberty  of  thought.  Amidst 
all  the  conviviality  of  this  conversation,  one  person  only  amor.jj 
the  guests  had  taken  no  share  in  it,  and  had  even  quietly  slid  ia 
some  little  jokes  at  the  eager  enthusiasm  of  the  moment ;  this 
person  was  Monsieur  Cazotte,  an  amiable,  but  an  original  char- 
acter. At  length,  taking  up  the  discourse,  'Gentlemen,'  saidne 
in  a  most  serious  manner,  '  you  may  all  be  satisfied,  for  you 
will  all  see  this  grand  and  sublime  revolution  which  you  so 
much  desire.  You  know  I  am  a  little  bit  of  a  prophet,  and  I 
repeat,  you  will  all  see  it.' 


FATHER  OSWALD.  157 

"  They  answered  him  with  the  well-known  ditty, '  No  need 
:o  be  a  great  wizard  to  foretell  that." 

"' Perhaps  so,' continued  Cazotte;  'but  it  maybe  necessary 
to  be  a  little  more  of  a  prophet  than  you  seem  to  imagine,  to  tell 
you  what  remains  to  be  told.  Do  you  know  what  will  come  to 
pass  in  consequence  of  this  revolution,  and  what  will  happen  to 
each  one  of  you  individually  here  present  1 — what  will  be  its 
acknowledged  effects,  and  immediate  consequences  V 

"Capital!  do  let  us  hear,'  said  Condorcet,  with  his  sullen 
and  stupid  air ;  '  a  philosopher  cannot  be  afraid  of  meeting  with 
a  piophet.' 

"'Well,  then,'  said  Gazette,  ' you,  Monsieur  de  Condorcet, 
will  expire  on  the  floor  of  a,  prison.  You  will  die  by  poison, 
which  you  will  swallow,  in  order  to  escape  from  the  hands  of 
the  executioner : — by  that  poison  which  those  happy  days  will 
force  you  always  to  carry  about  you.' 

<:  Great,  si  firsi,  WES  the  astonishment  of  the  company  at  these 
words;  but  thev  soon  recollected  that  the  worthy  Monsieur  Ca- 
zotte was  subject  to  day  dreams,  and  renewing  their  merriment, 
exclaimed,  '  Monsieur  Cazotte,  the  tale  you  are  telling  us  now 
is  not  so  amusing  as  your  "  Diable  Amoureux  ;"  but  what  devil 
can  have  put  into  your  head  prison,  poison,  and  executioners  1 
What  connection  can  there  possibly  be  between  these  things  and 
the  reign  of  Reason  and  philosophy  V 

"  '  Precisely  that  connection  which  I  am  pointing  out  to  you,' 
replied  Cazotte:  '  it  is  in  the  name  of  philosophy,  of  humanky, 
of  liberty,  under  the  reign  of  Reason,  that  your  career  will  finish 
thus;  and  it  will  be  truly  then  the  reign  of  Reason,  for  at  that 
time  temples  will  be  raised  to  her,  and  to  her  alone,  throughout 
all  France.' 

"  'By  my  faith,'  said  Chamfort  with  a  sarcastic  sneer,  'you 
will  not  be  one  of  her  priests  then  !' 

"  '  I  hope  not,'  replied  Cazotte:  '  but  you,  Monsieur  de  Cham- 
fort,  who  will  be  one,  and  most  worthy  of  the  dignity  too— you 
will  slash  your  veins  twenty-two  times  with  a  razor,  and,  never- 
theless you  will  not  die  of  this  until  some  months  after.' 

11  The  company  looked  nt  each  other,  and  laughed  again. 

"  You.  Monsieur  Vie  d'Azir,'  continued  Cazotte,  '  will  nof 
open  your  veins  yourself,  but  to  make  more  sure  of  }our  fate, 
you  will,  after  an  attack  of  gout,  cause  them  to  be  opened  six 
times,  and  you  will  die  in  the  night.  You,  Monsieur  dels'icolai, 
will  die  on  the  scaffold ;  and  you,  Monsieur  Bailly,  also  on  the 
scaffold.' 

"  'Well,  God  be  praised!"  cried  Roucher-  "it  seems  that 
Monsieur  Ci/otre  takes  vengeance  onlv  on  the  Academicians: 
14* 


158  FATHER  OSWALD. 

he  has  made  a  terrible  execution  of  them  ;  What  will  become 
of  me,  please  God '?   -' 

''  '  You,  Monsieur  Roucher !'  replied  Gazette — 'you  will  like- 
wise expire  on  the  scaffold.' 

"  'Oh!'  cried  every  one  simultaneously,  'he.  has  laid  a  wager; 
he  has  sworn  to  exterminate  us  all.' 

"  '  No:  it  is  not  I,  who  have  sworn  it,'  said  CazoUt;  mourn- 
fully. 

"  '  Well,  then,  we  are  to  be  exterminated  by  the  Turks  and 
Tartars !'  exclaimed  they  with  one  voice. 

11  '  By  no  means,'  replied  Monsieur  Cazotte.  '  Once  more  1 
repeat  it;  you  will  then  be  all  ruled  by  Reason  alone.  Those 
who  will  treat  you  thus,  will  be  all  philosophers,  and  will  have 
continually  in  their  mouths  the  same  phrases  which  you  have 
been  using  lor  this  last  hour:  they  will  repeat  all  your  maxims, 
they  will  quote  like  you  the  verses  of  Diderot,  and  those  of  La 
Pucelle--' 

"  The  guests  whispered  to  each  other,  '  that  it  was  evident 
Cazotte  had  lost  his  head,'  for  he  looked  all  this  time  as  serious 
as  possible;  '  but,'  said  they,  '  we  know  he  is  only  joking,  and 
that  his  jokes  are  always  mingled  with  the  marvellous  '  •  Yes,' 
observed  Chamfort,  'but  his  marvellous  is  not  gay:  he  is  too 
ominous;  but  can  you  tell  us.  Monsieur  Cazotte,  when  all  this 
.will  happen  T  asked  he. 

"  '  Six  years  will  not  pass  before  all  I  have  predicted  to  you 
shall  be  accomplished,'  said  Cazotte  calmly. 

"'Why,  these  are  really  miracles1.'  exclaimed  my  relative 
himself;  'but  you  count  me  for  nothing  amongst  them.' 

"  'You,  Monsieur  La  Harpe,'  replied  Cazotte,  '  will  be  quite 
as  great  and  extraordinary  a  miracle  as  any  of  them,  for  you 
will  ,'hen  be  a  Christian.' 

"  The  table  rung  with  exclamations." 

"'Bravo!  bravissimo!'  cried  Chamfort;  '  I  am  quite  happy 
9gain  ;  for  if  we  are  not  to  perish  till  La  Harpe  is  a  Christian, 
we  shall  be  immortal.' 

"'Well,'  said  Madame  La  Duchesse  de  Grammonl,  'we 
ladies  are  very  happy  in  being  overlooked  in  these  revolutions. 
When  !  say  overlooked,  I  don't  mean  that  we  do  not  sometimes 
meddle  with  them  a  little;  but,  as  a  matter  of  course,  we  are 
exempted  i'rom  the  consequences  thereof,  and  our  sex — ' 

"  '  Your  sex,  Madame,'  interrupted  Cazolte,  '  will  not  protect 
you  this  time,  and  it  will  be  in  vain  for  you  not  to  meddle  with 
any  thing;  you  will  be  treated  like  the  stronger  sex,  without  any 
distinction  whatsoever.' 

"  '  But  what,  in  the  name  of  patience,  are  you  saying,  Mon 


FATHER  OS\V  4LD.  159 

Rieur  Cas-ottel'  expostulated  the  Duchess:  'it  must  be  the  end 
of  the  world  you  are  preaching  to  us  methinks.' 

"'  I  know  nothing  about  that,'  answered  he  drily,  'but  w'nat 
I  do  know  is,  that  you,  Madame  La  Duchesse  de  Grammont, 
will  be  conducted  to  the  scaffold  on  the  executioner's  car ;  you 
and  several  other  ladies  at  the  same  time,  with  your  hands  tied 
behind  you." 

"  '  Upon  my  word  !  At  all  events,  in  such  a  case,  I  trust  1 
thould  at  least  be  indulged  with  a  mourning  coach,'  said  the 
Ouchess. 

"  '  No  Madame,'  replied  Cazotte;  'and  ladies  of  higher  rank 
.ban  yourself  will,  like  you,  go  on  a  car;  and  like  you,  have 
heir  hands  bound  ' 

"  '  Ladies  of  higher  rank ! — what,  the  princesses  of  the  blood  >' 
occlaimed  the  Duchess. 

"  '  Ladies  of  higher  rank  still,'  added  Cazotte. 

"  Here  a  sensible  agitation  thrilled  through  the  company,  and 
Ihe  countenance  of  the  master  of  the  house  fell,  forever}'  one 
seemed  to  think  the  joke  was  carried  a  little  too  far.  Madame 
de  Grammont,  to  disperse  this  little  shade  of  displeasure,  did 
not  insist  on  the  last  answer,  and  satisfied  herself  with  obser- 
ving, in  the  most  light  manner,  '  You  will  see  now  he  won't 
even  allow  me  a  confessor.' 

"  'No,  Madame,'  said  the  impenetrable  prophet;  'you  will 
not  have  one,  neither  will  any  one  else ;  the  last  person  exe- 
cuted, who  will  have  one,  and  that  by  a  particular  favour,  will 
le'  .  .  .  .  Here  he  paused  a  moment. 

"  '  Well  !  who  is  the  happy  mortal  that  will  have  this  prero- 
gative !'  rsked  many  voices. 

<:  '  It  will  be  the  last  prerogative  which  will  remain  to  him ;  — 
it,  will,  l>2  ihc.  king  of  P'runc?,' — said  Cazotte  mournfully. 

"  The  master  of  the  house  rose  abruptly,  and  every  one  with 
him  ;  he  approached  Cazotte,  and  said  to  him  in  a  marked  tone, 
'My  dear  Monsieur  Cazotte,  this  melancholy  fancy  has  lasted 
quiie  long  enough, — you  carry  it  too  far, — you  compromise  both 
yourself  and  us.' 

"  Monsieur  Cazotte  made  no  answer,  but  prepared  to  take 
his  leave,  when  Madame  de  Grammont,  who  always  delighted 
in  banishing  reflection  by  gaiety,  advanced  towards  him,3aying, 
1  Monsieur  le  Prophet  has  told  us  all  our  fortunes  very  well,  but 
he  does  not  tell  us  a  word  about  his  own.1 

"Cazotte  cast  bis  eyes  on  the  ground  and  was  silent  for  some 
time  ;  at  length  he  said,  '  Did  you  ever  read  the  sie^e  of  Jeru- 
salem, by  jQsephus,  Madame '' 


1GO  FATI1LK  OS%V«..D. 

" '  Oh,  to  be  sure  ;  who  has  not  read  it "  answered  she,  laugh, 
ing.  '  However,  fancy  to  you. self  I  have  not.' 

"  '  Well,  then,  Madame,  continued  Ci.zotte,  '  during  that  siege, 
there  was  a  man  who  for  seven  days  continually  walked  the 
rcund  of  the  ramparts,  in  the  sight  of  the  besiegers  and  the 
besieged,  crying  incessantly  in  an  ominous  and  thundering  tone, 
'  Woe  to  Jerusalem  ! — and  at  length  he  cried  out — woe  to  my- 
self!''  when,  in  the  twinkling  of  an  eye,  an  enormous  stone, 
hurled  from  th?  engine  of  the  enemy,  reached  him,  and  crushed 
him  to  atoms.'  Having  said  this,  Cazotte  made  his  bow,  and 
withdrew," 

La  Harpe  ceased  speaking,  and  Edward  seemed  much  struck. 
"But,"  said  he,  in  a  hesitating  tone,  "were  these  predictions 
verified  1" 

"To  a  tittle." 

"Aye,  aye,"  said  Sefton  with  a  self-complacent  smile:  "it 
is  very  easy  to  write  a  prophecy  after  the  events  have  taken 
place." 

"  1  expected  that  objection,"  replied  La  Harpe  ;  "  and  in  an- 
swer to  it,  I  can  only  allege  the  known  integrity  of  my  illustri- 
ous kinsman,  and  my  own  conviction  that  he  was  incapable  of 
retailing  and  publishing  such  a  story,  if  it  was  not  literally  true. 
Besides,  many  are  still  living,  who  have  heard  the  account  from 
his  own  lips,  and  never  doubted  his  veracity." 

"  Do  you  then  really  believe  ill"  subjoined  Sefton. 

"  As  firmly  as  I  believe  any  other  gentleman  on  his  word, 
who  has  no  motive  to  deceive  me,  or  to  disgrace  himself." 

"  Certainly,  it  is  very  extraordinary,"  said  Edward ;  "  but 
how  did  Cazotte  terminate  his  career  1" 

"  He  died  on  the  scaffold,"  answered  La  Harpe  ;  "  and  before 
the  fatal  blow  was  struck,  he  turned  to  the  assembled  crowd,  and 
said  in  a  distinct  voice,  '  I  die,  as  I  have  lived,  faithful  to  my 
God  and  to  my  king.'  " 

"  Then  he  was  not  what  you  term  an  infidel  1"  inquired  Sefton. 

"  By  no  means :  he  always  preserved  his  faith,  and  was  a 
constant  enemy  to  the  disorders  of  the  revolution.  He  was  al- 
ways much  connected  with  the  philosophers,  who  courted  him 
for  his  talents  He  was  finally  condemned,  having  been  be- 
trayed before  a  tribunal  of  assassins,  and  lost  his  life  on  the 
scaffold,  as  I  have  mentioned." 

"  Poor  man  !  How  horrid  !" 

"  He  found  means,  however,  to  get  an  hour's  interview  with 
a  priest,"  continued  La  Harpe,  "and  wrote  to  his  wile  and  chil- 
dren, begging  them  not  to  weep  for  him,  adding, '  and  above  all 
things,  remember  never  to  offend  God.'  " 


FATHER  OSWALD.  161 

Edward  made  no  observation,  but  seemed  musing,  and  La 
[Jarpe,  who  (elt  himself  much  affected  by  the  train  of  recollec- 
tions he.  had  roused,  rose,  and  holding  out  his  hand  to  his  friend, 
silently  withdrew. 


CHAPTER    XX. 

Hast  thou  a  charm  to  stay  the  morning  star 
In  his  sleep  course?  so  long  he  seems  to  pause 
On  thy  bald  -nvful  head,  <>  Sovren  Diane; 

0  dread  and  silent  mount.  I  gazed  upon  thee, 
Till  l.hou.  still  present  to  the  bodily  sense, 

Diitst  vanish  from  my  thought  ;  entranced  in  prayer, 

1  worshipped  the  Invisible  alone."— COLERIDGE. 

» 

As  Edward's  convalescence  advanced,  and  as  his  corporeal 
health  and  vigour  returned,  so  in  the  same  proportion  returned 
and  increased  the  sorrows  and  regrets  of  his  heart;  with  the 
doubts,  agitations  and  miser}'  of  his  mind,  on  matters  of  religion. 
He  was  not  unfrequently  inclined  to  return  to  his  home,  and 
allow  his  wife  the  same  liberty  of  conscience  he  claimed  lor 
himself;  but  pride  and  the  difficulty  he  felt  in  making  what  he 
thought  would  be  the  first  advances,  always  checked  the  more 
just  and  generous  feelings  of  his  heart.  "Besides,"  said  he  to 
himself,  "  I  really  am  so  unhappy  in  my  own  mind  about  where 
true  faith  is  to  be  Ibur.d,  or  whether  any  particular  form  of  faith 
is  at  all  required  of  us,  that  I  feel  I  have  no  chance  of  regaining 
any  peace  of  soul,  till  1  can  make  up  my  m.ind  one  way  or  an- 
other. After  all  the  horrible  ideas  I  have  heard  expressed  by 
that  vile  set  to  which  Le  Sage  introduced  me,  it  seems  clear 
enough,  that  if  faith  be  necessary  for  a  man's  salvation,  it  is 
not  to  be  Ibund  in  Protestantism  at  least:  which,  if  what  they 
say  is  true,  would  be,  alter  all  my  pains,  quiie  as  likely  to  con- 
duct me  to  the  Devil  as  not:  though,  by  the  way,  they  do  not 
believe  in  the  Devil  at  all.  most  of  them  ;  for  if  they  believed 
in  him,  they  would  believe  in  revealed  religion  ;  certainly,  though 
1  have  tried.  I  find  it  extremely  difficult  lo  bring  my  mind  aatis- 
faclorilu  lo  h:li.:-ce,  and  to  be  hap  pi/  in  believing,  that  there  is  no 
revealed  religion.  Without  revealed  religion,  a  thousand  diffi- 
culties present  themselves  in  explaining  the  moral  and  mental 
state  of  man  ;  and  if  there  is  a  religion  revealed  by  God  to  man 
that  reli?ion  must  now  exist  somewhere,  exactly  as  it  was  at  first 


'  FATIIKR  OSWALD. 

revealed,  for  God  is  truth,  and  can  neither  change  what  he  has 
once  revealed,  nor  reveal  contradictory  things  to  different  per- 
sons. .  .  .  Where,  then,  is  this  religion!  .  .  .  and  why  may 
not  Protestantism  be  if?  ...  I  have  o:'ten  heard  Dr.  Davisoh 
spc;;k  of  the  purity  of  the  Protestant  religion  in  Geneva  ;  I  have 
a  mind  to  go  thither,  and  examine  into  the  matter  myself;  how- 
ever, I  shall  keep  an  eye  of  observation  on  all  .the  Catholic 
superstitions  I  may  meet  with,  if  it  were  but  to  refute  them  to 
poor  de;<r  Emma  ;  but  how  could  she  ever  imagine  she  had  ibund 
the  truth  in  that  most  superstitious  of  all  superstitious  f..iths,  is 
beyond  my  comprehension.  I  used  to  think  she  had  a  very  clear 
judgment,  and  it  is  most  strange  how  she  can  have  got  so  bewil- 
dered in  this  most  important  affair,  for  important  it  is,  a  ter  all, 
as  I  know  too  well  by  the  terrors  my  soul  was  in  when  at  the 
point  of  death,  not  very  rnanv  weeks  ago.  No,  no,  il  is  highly 
necessary  to  make  up  one's  mind  upon  the  faith  we  ought  to 
live  in  before  we  come  to  the  awful  moment  of  giving  up  our 
soul  into  the  terrible  hands  of  the  living  God,  so  I  will  e'en  lose 
no  more  time  about  it,  but  begin  and  siit  the  matler  tnoroughly, 
and  may  God  grant  me  the  grace  to  embrace  the  truth,  and  live 
up  to  it  when  I  lind  it."  Having  come  to  this  resolve,  Edward 
fflt  his  heart  lighter  than  Ibr  some  time  past ;  he  rung  the  bell, 
and  gave  orders  to  Luigi.  to  prepare  for  their  immediate  depar- 
ture for  Switzerland.  Luigi  had  rejoined  his  master  about  a 
week  before  this,  and  rejoiced  at  the  prospect  of  their  being  once 
more  c.n-  vm/n^e,  after  their  disastrous  visit  to  Paris.  The  next 
day,  Monsieur  La  Harpe  called,  and  Sefton  told  him  that  he 
should  be  off  in  a  few  days  to  Switzerland.  La  Harpe  was 
fearful  that  his  friend  was  going  to  expose  his  scarcely  regained 
strength  too  soon,  and  tried  in  vain  to  retain  him  a  little  longer 
in  Paris.  At  length,  the  kindly  feelings  of  the  affectionate  old 
man  induced  him  to  offer  to  accompany  Sefton  as  far  as  Geneva, 
where  he  said  he  had  some  old  friends,  whom  he  would  be  glad 
to  visit.  Another  and  a  stronger  motive  he  had,  which  made 
him  wish  to  retreat  from  the  turbulent  and  unsettled  state  of 
Paris.  He  had  within  the  last  few  days  witnessed  the  most  out- 
rageous insults  offered  to  religion, — churches  sacrilegiously  de- 
secrated,— the  archbishop  expelled,  and  narrowly  escaping  de- 
struction,— his  palace  demolished, — the  image  of  the  crucified 
Redeemer  broken,  insulted,  and  even  dragged  through  the  filthy 
channels.  His  heart  sickened,  and  he  heartily  wished  himself 
many  leagues  away  from  these  awful  scenes  of  sacrilege  and 
profanity.  Sefton  gladly  accepted  his  proposal,  for  he  had  al- 
ready experienced  the  loneliness  of  feeling  caused  by  travelling 
without  a  companion.  Before  he  took  his  departure  from  Paris, 


FATHER  OSWALD- 


103 


he  called  at  the  convent  of  the  Sisters  of  Chant)-,  to  thank  sister 
Angela  for  all  the  anxious  care  and  kind  attention  she  had 
shown  him,  during  so  many  tedious  days  of  illness ;  at  the  same 
time  wishing  to  make  an  acknowledgment  to  the  convent,  ot 
his  esteem  and  gratitude,  he  presented  them  with  a  check  on  his 
banker  foi  a  very  handsome  sum  of  money.  The  Superioress 
gracefully  declined  it,  alleging  lor  excuse,  that  they  were  not 
accustomed  to  look  for  any  temporal  reward  tor  the  oflices  of 
charity  which  they  performed. 

"  Receive  it,  then,  as  an  alms  to  your  convent,'  said  t 
"for  I  wm  inibrmed  you  sometimes  receive  alms;  and  when  1 
look  about  here,  and  see  the  nakedness  and  poverty  of  your  hab- 
itation  I  am  convinced  your  receipts  do  not  overbound. 

"  On  that  title,"  replied  the  Superioress  with  dignified  :our- 
tesy  "1  will  thankfu.ly  receive  it  Our  community  is  .arge 
and  our  means  scanty.  The  grateful  prayers  oi  jhe  sisterhood 
shall  not  be  wanted  lor  the  generous  Englishman." 

"I  feel  convinced/' said  Sefton  with  some  emotion,  "that  the 
God  of  mercy  and  of  love  can  never  reject  the  prayers  of  these, 
his  ministering  angels  of  charity." 

Sister  Angela  then  approached,  and  presented  Sefton  a  silver 
medal  of  the  Blessed  Virgin,  attached  to  a  silken  cord,  begging 
of  him  to  accept  and  wear  it  in  his  bosom,  in  honour  ot  her 
whoso  image  was  there  expressed.  Sefton  was  taken  by  surprise ; 
he  knew  not  how  either  to  receive  cr  decline  the  proffered  gilt. 
After  a  short  pause,  during  which  his  countenance  betrayed  his 
perplexity,  he  at  length  said  with  some  trepidation — 

'•  Sister  Angela,  there  is  nothing  I  would  not  do  to  gratify  you 
as  tar  as  conscience  might  allow;  but  pardon  me,  I  canno1 
brin"  myself  to  promise  you  to  wear  that  medal  in  honour  of  tne 
Virgin.  I  have  been  too  long  accustomed  to  consider  that  a  su- 
perstitious practice." 

"Rather  pardon  me,"  said  sister  Angela,  "lor  makms 
proposal,  but  I  really  thought  your  good  sense  was  superior  to  a 
prejudice  so  groundless." 
"  How  so  1" 

"  I  observed  in  the  hospital  with  what  raptures  you  received 
again  the  restored  miniature  of  your  wife;  kissing  it,  and  press- 
in-^  it  to  your  bosom,  without  any  scruple  of  superstition. 

"  True  "  replied  Sefton  with  a  deep  blush  of  confusion,  "  but 
there  is  a  great  difference  between  the  two." 

"  I  see  no  difference,"  said  sister  Angela,  "  but  in  the  object 
of  these  external  imirks  of  respect.  You  wear  the  image  of 
your  beloved  wife  next  to  your  heart ;  you  cherish  it  there,  out 
of  affection  to  her;  the  action  is  simple  and  natural,  and  springs 


164  FATHER  OSWALD. 

from  a  kindly  and  holy  motive.  No\v.  I  only  ask  you  to  wear 
this  medal  out  of  affection  to  the  Mother  of  the  Redeemer; 
where  is  the  superstition  in  that?" 

"  Pardon  me.  sister  Angela,  I  do  not  feel  that  affection  for  the 
Virgin  which  I  feel  for  my  wile;  1  respect,  and  even  venerate 
her,  as  the  mother  of  Jesus  Christ,  but  I  cannot  love  her  so  as 
to  put  my  trust  in  her  " 

"  Well,  well,"  said  the  nun,  smiling,  "  at  least  wear  the  medal 
out  of  respect  and  veneration  to  her." 

"  Excuse  me,  it  is  impossible ;  I  really  cannot  do  it.  Bid  me 
wear  it  lor  your  sake,  as  a  token  of  my  obligations  to  you,  as  a 
memorial  of  your  kindness,  and  I  will  accept  it,  I  will  press  it 
to  my  heart,  that  the  remembrance  of  you  may  never  be  can- 
celled thence." 

'•  Well,  then,  wear  it  for  my  sake,  and  as  often  as  you  cast 
your  eyes  upon  it,  remember  that  there  is  a  poor  nun  whose 
humble  prayers  shall  be  daily  offered  for  your  eternal  welfare; 
she  will  invoke  the  Holy  Virgin's  protection  for  you,  and  in  the 
hour  of  affliction  or  distress  perhaps  at  the  sight  of  the  medai 
you  may  be  induced  to  seek  aid  where  it  was  never  sought  in 
vain." 

A  tear  struggled  in  the  eye  of  Sefton  as  he  held  out  his  hand 
to  receive  the  rncdal;  he  threw  the  cord  round  hte  neck,  and 
promised  to  wear  the  rnedal  for  the  sake  of  Angela  :  he  then 
took  his  leave  of  the  religious,  and  in  a  few  days  left  Paris. 
The  change  of  scene  and  air  performed  wonders  in  recruiting 
the  invalid,  and  his  spirits  rose  with  the  hope  of  soon  being  abh 
to  rub  up  his  Protest, mtism,  and  have  his  mind  set  al  rest  on  re- 
ligious matters.  One  day,  while  they  were  changing  horses  ir; 
a  small  village,  Seiton,  struck  with  its  picturesque  situation,  got 
out  of  the  carriage  to  examine  it  more  carefully;  observing 
there  was  no  church,  which  was  a  rare  thing,  even  in  France  . 
he  asked  an  old  man  who  was  seated  at  his  cabin  door,  where- 
abouts the  church  might  be. 

"Alas!  Sir,"  answered  the  peasant,  sighing,  "we  have  no 
church  in  our  little  hamlet." 

"  How  is  that,  my  friend  1"  inquired  Sefton. 

"  Because,"  said  the  poor  man.  with  a  tremulous  quiver  of 
his  lip,  "  the  guillotine  was  placed  in  our  beautiful  little  church 
during  the  reign  of  terror ;  and  every  thing  that  was  sacred  and 
holy  in  it  was  profaned  and  dcstroved." 

"  Oh,  my  God  !  how  horrible  !"  exclaimed  Sefton  ;  "  I  cannot 
conceive  such  licentious  barbarity." 

"Alas!  tnat  was  not  all,  Sir,"  said  the  old  man,  while  the 
tear  trickled  down  his  rugged  cheek  :  li  in  that  very  church,  and 


FATHER  OSWALD.  1G5 

by  that  rery  guillotine,  I  lost  the  wife  of  my  bosom,  and  my  two 
ohiy  sons;' executed, — martyred,  I  may  say,  on  the  very  spot 
where  they  were  baptized." 

"How  very  shocking!  poor  old  man  !  I  wonder  not  at  your 
grief,1'  said  Edward  compassionately,  "but  for  what  supposed 
crime  were  you  thus  bereft  of  those  so  near  and  dear  to  yoa  " 

"  Because  in  those  days  it  was  a  crime  to  be  religious,  and  it 
was  against  reason  tc  believe  in  God  and  the  hoiy  Catholic 
lailh :  our  poor  o'd  Curate's  life  was  sought;  he  was  sheltered 
in  our  house,  but  he  was  soon  discovered  and  beheaded,  and  my 
wile  and  sons  massacred  because  they  had  sought  to  save  the 
life  of  an  innocent  fellow-creature." 

<:  How  contrary, — nay,  how  shoe-king  to  all  reason  and  jus- 
tice !"  said  Edward  with  much  emoiiou. 

"Yes,  Sir;  they  talked  of  liberty,  but  they  would  not  allow 
a  poor  Catholic  to  have  the  liberty  of  believing  the  word  of  the 
Son  ol  God,  nor  of  practising  ihe  divine  religion  taught  by  Him: 
and  what  did  they  offer  us  in  return  1 — the  horrors  of  incredulity, 
and  the  practice  of  every  species  of  the  most  Horrible  crimes  " 

The  old  man  paused,  and  vrrung  his  hands,  "And  now,"  said 
he,  ll  I,  who  was  once  weii  olF,  happy,  and  content  wilh  my 
country  and  religion,  am  a  poor,  miserable,  beggared  outcast, 
deprived  orall  the  comforts  of  life,  Snd  the  consolations  of  my 
faith;  our  once  beautiful  church  is  now  a  stable,  and  before  1 
can  hear  Mass  or  receive  the  Sacraments,  I  have  to  walk  some- 
limes  ten  or  fifteen  miles." 

The  poor  man  sunk  down  on  the  slone  bench  by  the  cabin 
door,  and  covered  his  face  with  his  withered  hands.  At  this 
moment  the  carriage,  with  the  fresh  horses,  came  galloping  up. 
Edward,  breathing  a  few  words  of  comfort  to  the  poor  old  man, 
and  putting  into  his  hands  a  liberal  alms,  jumped  into  the  vehi- 
cle, and  was  out  of  sight  in  an  instant. 

"  Well,"  said  Sefton  eagerly,  "  I  do  grant  you  one  concession, 
La  Harpe;  namely,  that  the  spirit  of  revolutionary  liberty  ap- 
pears better  in  theory  than  it  works  in  practice." 

"  And  when  did  you  make  that  wonderful  discovery  7"  said  La 
Harpe,  laughing,  and  looking  up  irom  the  travelling  map  over 
which  he  was  poring. 

"  Just  now :  I  often  have  doubted  it,  and  discussed  the  point 
in  my  own  mind,  but  now  I  am  convinced:  such  horrors  as  I 
have  just  heard  ! — enough  to  make  one's  blood  ru  Jt  cold." 

Sefton  then  related  to  his  friend  the  little  episode  of  the  old 
French  peasant :  •'  Xow."  continued  he,  "  what  was  the  conse- 
quence in  practice  of  this  revolutionary  liberty — this  pretended 
reason,  in  destroying  all  religion,  but  crime,  and  injustice,  and 
15 


IG6  tATHER  OSWALD. 

misery:  crime  in  (he  perpetrators  of  such  horrid  massacres, 
injustice  in  the  destroying  of  public  property,  and  individual 
liberty  and  right,  and  misery  to  those  individuals  as  well  as  to 
the  perpetrators  themselves  1  for  I  am  convinced  these  revolu- 
tionary tigers  must  have  had  a  very  hell  of  remorse  within  their 
own  souls." 

"  Yes."  observed  La  Harpe  mournfully ;  1:  incredulity  does 
not  produce  peace  of  mind." 

"  No,"  continued  Sefton  ;  '•'  I  know  that  full  well,  from  the 
slight  taste  I  have  had  of  it:  one  might  almost  draw  an  infer- 
ence from  the  feeling  of  uncertain  horror  which  seems  to  darken 
the  soul,  and  the  anxiety  and  troubles  of  spirit  which  wither  all 
the  generous  and  tranquil  sensibilities  of  the  heart,  that  scepti- 
cism is  not  suued  to  man." 

"  There  can  be  no  doubt,"  said  Monsieur  La  Harpe,  "  but  that 
absolute  incredulity,  which  reduces  a  soul  to  the  lowest  degree 
of  degradation,  brings  with  it  a  kind  of  Hell.  I  remember  one 
day  he  ring  Monsieur  Viennetsay  to  Monsieur  Benjamin-Con- 
stant, '  I  find  myself  very  unhappy  in  believing  nothing;  if  I 
had  children,  I  would  preserve  them  from  this  misfortune  by 
giving  them  a  Christian  education,  and  it'  there  were  still  Jesuits,, 
I  think  I  should  place  them  in  one  of  their  colleges.'  'It  is 
the  same  with  me,'  replied  Monsieur  Benjamin-Constant.  'I 
am  a  perfect  sceptic;  sind  this  scepticism  is  a  feeling  which 
wears  me.  I  wish  I  could  believe  in  any  thing,  were  it  only  in 
magnetism  ;  but  1  cannot  believe  in  that  more  than  in  any  thing 
else,  and  this  feeling  causes  me  an  indescribable  torment.' 
ISTow,  does  not  this  acknowledgment,"  continued  La  Harpe, 
"  which  truth  has  so  often  drawn  from  the  most  incredulous, 
prove  to  demonstration,  that  without  religious  faith,  man  can 
never  be  happy  T' 

"  It  seems  so,  indeed,"  said  Sefton,  sighing,  "and  it  proves 
also  the  truth  of  Montesquieu's  observation,  when  he  says,  '  It  is 
n  wonderful  thing  that  the  Christian  religion,  which  seems  only 
to  have  for  its  object  our  felicity  in  the  next  world,  should  never- 
theless constitute  our  happiness  in  this.'  " 

"  It  is  a  very  true  and  a  very  just  observation,"  answered  La 
Harpe. 

"Again,  on  the  other  hand, '  continued  Sefton,  musing,  "  i( 
what  Montesquieu  says  be  true,  how  can  we  account  for  the 
misery  and  unhappiness  occasioned  by  religious  differences 
amongst  the  various  classes  and  sects  of  Christians  1" 

"  It  is  the  abuse  of  religion,  and  not  its  use,  which  occasions 
the  unhappy  consequences  you  mention,"  answered  La  Harpe : 
"  It  is  because  these  different  sects  are  all  in  error  on  matters  01 


FATHER  OSWALD.  16? 

faii.-i  thai  they  ere  unhappy  ;  they  do  not  feel  certain  that  what 
they  oelieve  is  that  which  God  has  revealed,  and  which  it  is  the 
wifl  o!'  God  men  should  believe:  hence  arise  the  u:ih;;ppiiiess 
and  disagreements  you  refer  to.:> 

"How,  then,  aie  we  to  know  exactly  what  it  is  the  wi..  of 
God  man  should  believe  1"  exclaimed  Edward  bitterly.  "AH 
Christian  sects  believe  that  they  alone  possess  the  truth  ;  anJ  all 
profess  to  ground  their  faith  on  the  infallible  word  of  God. 
Mow  can  this  be  1  How  can  God  permit  weak  man  to  become 
thus  the  sport  of  his  own  imagination  1  How  can  this  be  re- 
conciled with  the  perfections  of  the  Daitvl  Oh  !  surely  the  con- 
templation of  the  governing  will  of  God  in  all  things  must  ne- 
cessarily lead  to  melancholy;  because  the  existence  of  evil, 
causes  the  mind  to  entertain  doubts  of  the  perfection  of  the 
divine  goodness.1' 

"  The  permission  of  evil  is  a  question  too  abstruse  for  me  to 
enter  into  at  this  moment."  replied  La  Harpe,  "but  I  think  it  is 
sufficient  for  us  to  know  that  God  is  infinitely  good,  just,  and 
wise;  and  if  he  permits  evil,  it  is  for  the  wisest  purpose,  and  to 
draw  good  from  evil  itself.  The  permission  of  evil  is  a  neces- 
sary consequence  of  the  fact,  that  God  in  his  wisdom  and  good- 
ness created  man  free,  'and  left  him  in  the  hand  of  his  own 
counsel,  to  choose  life  or  death,  good  or  evil.'*  It  is  an  impious 
folly  in  man  to  call  God  to  account  for  what  He  has  done.  He 
will  or.t  day  justify  His  ways  be.'ore  men.  If  on  our  pr:rt  we 
avoid  evil,  and  do  good,  we  have  no  reason  to  be  melancholy. 
Catholics,  who  are  all  perfectly  certain  of  the  truth  of  their  own 
faith,  are  never  melancholy  on  that  score,  and  are  everywhere 
more  cheerful  than  the  gloomy  Calvinist  or  sanctimonious 
Methodist." 

"  It  Certainly  is  something  surprising  to  observe,"  answered 
Sefton,  "how  every  Catholic  is  so  satisfied  with  his  own  reli- 
gion.— at  least  every  Catholic  that  I  have  yet  seen.'1 

"  They  have  every  reason  to  be  perfectly  sn'isfied,  my  good 
friend,"  said  La  Harpe,  smiling,  ':as  you  would  find  were  you 
to  act  up  to  yuur  own  principles  as  a  Protestant,  and  thoroughly 
examine  the  foundations  upon  which  the  Catholic  laiih  is 
grounded." 

"  I  fear  I  should  be  a  long  while  in  arriving  at  the  foundations 
through  the  mass  of  superstition  and  bigotry  which  surrounds 
them,"  said  Sefton  sarcastically;  "no,  no,  when  we  get  to  Ge- 
neva, I  intend  to  examine  the  foundations  o!  the  Protestant  faith 
thoroughly,  which  will  be  much  more  to  the  purpose." 

La  Harpe  smiled  and  shook  his  head.  "  I  deny  entirely  thai 
*  Ecn1  xv.  14  &  18. 


168  PATIIEU  OSWALD. 

you  Protestants  have  any  fail/i  at  all:  you  have  nothing  but 
opinion.  Now 'without  faith  it  is  impossible  to  please  God,' 
are  the  words  inspired  by  Truth  itself." 

"  Why,  what  is  any  man's  faith  but  his  opinion  or  persuasion !' 
asked  Sefton. 

"  Opinion."  replied  La  Harpe,  "is  the  persuasion  of  man's 
mind  grounded  upon  probable,  though  not  certain  motives. 
Hence,  we  frequently  change  our  opinions  as  we  see  more  or 
less  probability  in  the  motives.  Divine  -faith,  on  the  contrary,  is  • 
grounded  on  the  certain  and  infallible  Word  of  God,  which  can 
never  suffer  change.  You  Protestants  often  change  your  opi- 
nions, as  you  see  more  or  less  of  probability  in  your  interpreta- 
tion of  the  Bible;  hence,  I  say,  you  have  opinion,  not  faith. 

At  this  moment  Luigi  turned  towards  them  with  an  air  ol 
mysterious  triumph,  and  exclaimed  in  a  low  but  audible  voice, 
"  Gentlemen,  Mont  Blanc." 

They  both  looked  in  the  direction  in  which  Luigi  pointed, 
and  gazed  on  the  snow-covered  mountain  which  appeared  in  the 
blue  distance.  A  succession  of  beautiful  scenery  now  wrapt 
their  attention  in  wonder  and  admiration  for  several  hours,  and 
Sefton  exclaimed,  as  they  approached  the  little  inn  where  they 
were  to  pass  the  night,  "  After  all,  adoring  the  Deity  in  Hi" 
wonderful  works  is  worth  a  thousand  controversial  differences 
and  who  knows  but  this  adoration  of  the  heart,  accompanies 
with  a  good  life,  may  be  all  He  requires  of  us'!" 

"I  know  for  one,"  said  La  Harpe;  "because  the  inspired 
Apostle  himself  has  said  'without  failh'it  is  impossible  to  please 
God;'*  and  simply  to  adore  God  and  lead  what  you  call  a 
moral  life,  would  but  reduce  us  to  the  condition  of  those  enlight- 
ened Athenians  who  worshipped  the  unknown  God." 

Sexton  groaned. 

"  Examine,  examine  thoroughly,  that  is  all  I  ask  of  you,  "  said 
La  Harpe." 

"  I  will,  my  friend,  I  will,"  said  Sefton  ;  "  wait  till  we  get  to 
Geneva,  I  hope  to  find  the  truth  there." 

La  Harpe  smiled  incredulously;  Luigi  opened  the  carriage 
icor,  and  they  entered  the  lowly  threshold  of  the  Mountain  Inn, 
where  they  were  to  find  shelter  for  the  night. 

*  Heb.  xi.  6 


FATHER  OSWALD.  168 


CHAPTER   XXI. 

We  now  reject  each  mystic  creed, 
,  To  common  sense  a  scandal  ; 

We  're  more  enlightened — yes,  indeed, 
The  Devil  holds  the  candle. 

EPIGRAM 

THE  next  morning,  the  travellers  were  off  early,  and  enjoyed 
a  Jay  of  delicious  mountain  scenery.  Se!ton  was  even  more 
gratified  with  Switzerland  than  he  had  anticipated,  and  the  ten 
days  spent  in  travelling  over  the  different  Cantons  and  exploring 
their  ever-varying  beauties,  seemed  to  ny  with  fairy  speed.  On 
arriving  at  Geneva,  Seven's  first  visit  was  to  the  post-office, 
where  he  found  letters  of  introduction  from  Dr.  Davison  to  some 
of  the  principal  processors  and  literati,  at  Geneva.  The  next 
morning,  aftei  breakfast,  Edward  made  his  round  of  visits:  he 
was  particularly  struck  with  the  appearance  of  Professor  fepiel- 
mann.  He  was  an  old  man  of  venerable  appearance,  with 
someibing  in  his  manners  that  invited  confidence.  Sefton  ac- 
cordingly contrived  to  turn  the  conversation  on  that  now  upper- 
mi  st  in  his  mind — religion,  and  mentioned,  as  if  casutiiy,  some 
of  the  difficulties  upon  Protestantism  which  he  had  heard  in 
Paris,  particularly  in  relation  to  the  Trinity. 

""Well,  well,"  my  excellent  young  friend,"  said  the  Professor, 
with  two  or  three  slow  and  patronizing  nods  of  his  head,  i:  I 
think  you  take  these  matters  too  seriously — indeed,  I  am  sure 
of  it.  You  will  find  many,  very  many  excellent  and  worthy 
divines  in  Geneva,  who  rationally  enough  do  not  think  it  neces- 
sary to  believe  several  of  the  antiquated  dogmas  which  Protest- 
ants at  first  acquiesced  in  without  sufficient  examination  ;  more 
light  has  by  degrees  gleamed  on  these  subjects,  particularly  with 
regard  to  the  superior  nature  of  Christ,  the  personality  of  the 
Holy  Spirit,  the  Incarnation,  and  the  Atonement,  with  its  attend- 
ant mysteries.  I  assure  you,  you  will  find  that  the  great  mass 
of  Protestants  of  all  denominations  have  cast  off  these  dogmas 
as  fictions  and  absurdities,  unworthy  of  an  enlightened  age." 

Sefton  could  not  repress  his  astonishment,  and  both  his  look 
and  manner  testified  pain  and  surprise. 

"I  did  not  say  that  1  exactly  agreed  with  all  the  explanations 
given  by  rational  Protestants  on  the  dogmas  I  have  just  men- 
tioned," continued  the  Processor,  observing  the  agitated  expres- 
sion on  Sefton's  speaking  countenance;  "  but  with  regard  to  the 
Trinity,  upon  which  you  seem  to  have  had  some  difficulties,  it 
15* 


170  FATHER  OSWALD. 

is  my  opinion  that  that  dogma  may  be  removed  without,  scruple 
from  religious  instruction,  as  being  a  novel  doctrine,  without 
foundation  and  contrary  to  reason  ;  but,"  added  he,  lowering  his 
voice  and  .shaking  his  head  solemnly,  "it  must  be  clone  with 
great  circumspection,  that  weak  Christians  may  not  take  scandal 
at  it,  or  make  it  a  pretext  to  reject  all  religion  :  for  you  must  tw 
aware  that  the  greatest  part  of  our  people  are  not  yet  sufficiently 
enlightened  to  look  upon  the  truth  in  its'  naked  simplicity.  They 
have  been  too  long  accustomed  to  regard  religion  through  the 
mist  of  mystery.  We  must  humour  their  prejudices  for  a  while. 
Our  hope  is  in  the  rising  generation,  which  a  better  system  of 
education  is  preparing  for  brighter  days." 

Seiton  felt  both  indignation  and  disgust;  however,  he  sup- 
pressed his  rising  emotion,  and  observed  as  calmly  as  he  could, 
that  Dr.  Davison.  who  had  studied  much  of  his  theology  at  Ge- 
neva, held  and  preached  very  different  tenets. 

"  I  do  not  doubt  it,  my  good  Sir,  in  the  least,"  answered  the. 
Pro.'essor;  "poor  Davison!  he  was  always  a  good-natured, 
simple  soul :  a  great  ally  of  mine  at  one  time,  but  too  apt  to 
take  things  on  credit;  however,  it  is  not  his  fault  if  his  mind 
has  not  marched  with  the  age  Intercourse  with  some  of  the 
enlightened  spirits  of  modern  times  would  be  of  infinite  service 
to  him." 

"But,  Sir,"  said  Edward  dryly,  "after  all,  belief  in  the 
Trinity  is  one  of  the  Thirty-nine  Articles  of  the  Church  of 
England." 

"Whew!  whew!"  said  the  Professor,  putting  his  forefinger 
to  his  nose,  and  shutting  one  of  his  eyes  with  an  inexpressibly 
sly  wink,  "You  surely  know  it  is  nowise  necessary  for  a  good 
rational  Protestant  to  believe  in  the  Thirty-nine  Articles  of  your 
Church;  we  of  Geneva  never  admitted  them  from  the  beginning, 
and  we  know  quite  well  that  the  most  learned  of  your  Church- 
men are  heartily  sick  of  them." 

"Luther  and  Calvin,  I  imagine,  believed  in  the  Trinity  at 
least,"  observed  Sefton  coolly. 

"Luther  believed,  too.  in  a  real  presence  in  the  Sacrament,' 
said  the  Processor  sarcastically,  "  which  smells  far  too  strong  of 
Popery  to  be  endured;  if  he  was  wrong  in  one  article,  he  might  4 
be  wrong  in  another.  But  perhaps  I  am  wronging  the  grand 
patriarch  of  Protestantism.  I  have  been  long  persuaded  in  my 
own  mind,  that  both  Luther  and  Calvin,  and  most  of  their  co- 
operators,  were  loo  clear-headed  not  to  see  the  ultimate  conse- 
quences of  their  immortal  principle—  that  every  man. must  judge 
for  himself  in  matters  of  faith,  and  therefore  no  man  can  be- 
lieve what  he  cannot  comprehend.  Mysteries  and  miracles 
must  therefore  be  eliminated  Irom  rational  faith." 


FATHER  OSWALD  l"l 

SePon  was  confounded;  he  knew  not  what  to  reply,  for  in 
nis  disputes  with  Catholics  he  had  often  urged  the  same  maxim, 
that  a  .man  could  not  be  obliged  to  believe  what  he  did  noi 
understand.  At  length  he  ventured  upon  a  reply  which  he  had 
often  heard  from  Catholics. 

"  I  think.  Sir."  said  he,  "  we  act  very  rationally  in  believing 
whatever  God  has  revealed  to  us,  for  that  must  necessarily  be 
true,  however  it  may  surpass  our  very  limited  comprehension  ; 
let  me  once  clearly  understand  that  God  has  revealed  a  truth, 
and  then  /  must  and  will  most  gratefully  bow  every  power  o! 
my  soul  to  receive  and  adore  it." 

"  Oh,  oh !"  said  the  Doctor,  "  I  see  which  way  the  wina 
sets.  1  tell  you,  young  man,  if  you  once  renounce  the  rights  of 
your  own  judgment,  if  you  once  hoodwink  reason,  some  sly 
knave  or  other  will  soon  lead  you  into  all  the  mazes  of  Popish 
superstition." 

"  No  fear  of  that,"  replied  Sefton,  "  for  there  is  a  wide  differ- 
ence between  submitting  humbly  to  the  incomprehensible  mys- 
teries of  God,  really  revealed,  and  following  blindly  the  super- 
stitions of  Rome,  which  are  the  fond  inventions  of  men." 

"Beware,"  said  the  Pro  lessor ;  "you  do  not  know  the 
craftiness  of  the  Roman  clergy;  they  are  not  such  fools  as  to 
propose  at  first  to  your  implicit  belief  any  silly  superstition 
mystery  or  miracle  until  they  have  inveigled  you  by  theii 
xophisrns  into  the  belief  that  God  has  so  revealed  it.  If  you 
give  up  the  right  of  judging  for  yourself,  you  will  cease  to  be  h 
Protestant.'1 

"That  I  shall  never  do,"  replied  Sefton  with  earnestness- 
"yet,  in  exercising  the  free  right  of  my  own  judgment,  I  must 
be  allowed  to  think,  tha..  God  may  reveal,  and  really  has  rcvealer 
many  things  which  I  cannot  fathom.  I  am  sure  that  the  firs' 
fathers  of  the  Reformation  and  the  best  and  wisest  men  that 
have  adorned  it,  admitted  many  unsearchable  mysteries,  such  as. 
ihe  Trinity,  Incarnation,  and  the  like." 

"The  works  of  the  great  fathers  of  Protestantism,"  replied 
Processor  Spielmann,  "have  not  been  sufficiently  studied  b» 
their  followers,  nor  has  sufficient  allowance  been  made  for  UK 
times  and  circumstances  in  which  they  appeared.  The  brigfr' 
light  of  reason  did  not  burst  upon  them  all  at  once,  but  gradu- 
ally developed  itself,  t:nd,  one  by  one,  chased  away  the  shadows 
of  their  earlier  education.  When  they  did  see  the  light  in  noon- 
lide  blaze,  they  prudently  withheld  it  from  the  gaze  of  their  be 
tighted  followers  and  contemporaries,  as  it  would  then  have 
only  dazzled,  not  allured  them  to  the  truth.  They  were  con- 
,emed  to  be  the  harbingers  of  more  glorious  days  which  we  nov 


I 

l72  FATHER  OSWALD. 

enjoy.  Hence,  at  first  they  really  did  believe,  and  afterwards 
a  fleeted  to  believe, — though  not  without  insinuating  many  se- 
rious doubts — several  of  the  mysteries  of  the  ancient  doctrine. 
They  sowed,  indeed,  thp  fruitful  seed,  and  we  live  to  reap  the 
abundan.t  harvest." 

•  Sefton  sickened  in  his  inmost  soul,  as  he  listened  to  this  ex- 
traordinary avowal  of  a  learned  Doctor  and  Professor  in  the 
first  chair  of  Protestant  theology  in  Europe.  He  was  unable  to 
make  a  reply. 

"  Come,  come,"  continued  the  Doctor,  seeing  that  Sefton 
looked  puzzled,  "  I  shall  take  you  to-morrow,  as  it  will  be  Sun- 
day, to  hear  one  of  the  finest  preachers  we  have  in  Geneva,  Dr. 
Unteisteken ;  he  is  a  profound  divine,  and  a  most  liberal  and 
enlightened  man.  I  am  sure  you  will  be  delighted  with  him." 

Se;ton  thanked  him,  and  gladly  accepted  the  offer.  He  then 
took  his  leave,  and  promised  TO  be  with  the  Professor  the  nexl 
morning  at  ten  o'clock.  He  returned  to  his  hotel  with  a  heavy 
heart  and  his  mind  more  confused  than  ever.  He  in  vain  tried 
to  fix  his  attention  on  the  book  he  was  reading;  it  wandered 
every  moment  back  to  Professor  Spielmann  and  his  extraordinary 
conversation.  He  attempted  to  write  to  Emma,  but  it  would 
not  do.  At  length  dinner-time  came,  and  Monsieur  La  Harpe, 
who  had  been  paying  visits  during  the  morning,  made  his  ap- 
pearance. During  dinner  Edward  was  silent  and  gloomy  ;  he 
made  several  ineffectual  attempts  to  shake  off  his  uneasiness, 
out  the  whole  burden  of  the  conversation  was  sustained  by  La 
Harpe,  who  observed  his  friend's  uneasiness,  but  prudently  for- 
bore noticing  it.  At  length,  when  the  servants  had  withdrawn, 
and  they  were  left  alone  with  their  dessert,  Sefton  told  La  Harpe 
(he  whole  history  of  his  visit  to  Professor  Spielmann,  and  con 
eluded  by  expressing  his  extreme  surprise  at  what  he  termed 
such  heterodox  and  latitudinarian  principles  of  faith. 

"I  am  not  at  all  suprised  at  the  Professor,"  said  La  Harpe 
, quietly  ;  "  I  told  you  before,  that  you  Protestants  had  no  divine 
faith  at  all, — you  have  merely  human  opinion.  Protestants  be- 
lieve to-day  what  they  opine  to  be  true,  and  to-morrow  they 
change  their  faith  with  their  opinion.  Now,  it  seems  to  me, 
lhat  consistently  speaking,  Professor  Spielmann  has  as  much 
right  to  deny  the  Trinity,  as  you  have  to  deny  the  real  presence 
in  the  blessed  Eucharist.  You  know  the  Apostle  affirms,  thai 
•  without  faith,  it  is  impossible  to  please  God';  therefore  I  am  not 
a  all  surprised  that  any  reflecting  Protestant,  who  examines  his 
3\rn  religion,  should  be  uneasy,  and  very  uneasy  too,  when  he 
:omcs  to  see  the  sandy  foundations  on  which  it  rests,  and  the 
dangers  to  which  it  exposes  him  " 


FATHER  OSWALD.  171 

"  Dangers !  what  dangers  V 

"  Why,  the  danger  of  becoming  a  sceptic  and  an  infidel,  the 
ruinger  of  displeasing  God  and  of  losing  his  immortal  soul. 
These  ministers  at  Geneva  have  already  passed  the  irrevocable 
barrier ;  they  have  held  out  the  hand  of  fellowship  to  Deists  and 
to  the  enemies  of  the  faith.  They  even  blush  to  make  mention 
in  their  catechisms  of  Original  Sin,  without  which  the  Incar- 
nation of  the  Eternal  Word  is  no  longer  necessary." 

"  Very  extraordinary1/'  muttered  Sefton;  "  I  had  no  idea  of  it." 

"  I  have  known  it  a  long  time,"  answered  La  Harpe ;  "  why, 
you  may  remember  that  even  in  Rousseau's  time  the  opinions 
of  the  Genevese  Protestants  had  conducted  them  pretty  lar;  for 
he  says  in  one  of  his  letters,  '  when  they  are  asked  if  Jesus 
Christ  is  God,  they  do  not  dare  to  answer;  when  asked  what 
mysteries  they  admit,  they  still  do  not  dare  to  answer;  a  philoso- 
pher.' continues  he,  '  casts  upon  them  a  rapid  glance,  and  pene- 
trates them  at  once  ;  he  sees  they  are  Arians,  Socinians,  and 
heretics  of  the  most  dangerous  kind.'  " 

"  Where,  then,  is  to  be  found  faith, — what  yon  call  faith., — 
without  which  it  is  impossible  to  please  God  1"  said  Seiion 
despondingly. 

"  In  the  Church  founded  by  Jesus  Christ  himself,"  answered 
La  Harpe ;  "  the  Church  to  which  He  has  promised  to  teach  all 
truths  to  the  end  of  the  world;  but  you  will  not  find  it  in  Pro- 
testantism, which  is  a  nonentity  of  a  religion.  Protestants  are 
entirely  separated  from  the  Church  of  Jesus  Christ,  and  conse- 
quently are  separated  from  Jesus  Christ  himself,  who,  as  St. 
Paul  says,  purchased  to  Himself  a  Holy  Church  at  the  price  ol 
Irlis  blood.  Protestants  despise  the  Pope,  the  bishops,  and  all 
the  ministers  of  the  Church  of  Jesus  Christ,  and  consequently 
they  despise  Jesus  Christ  himself,  who  has  said,  '  He  who  de- 
spiseth  you,  despiseth  me.'  "* 

"  You  are  too  severe,  Sir,  much  too  severe  !"  exclaimed  Sef 
ton,  sharply  ;  "  Protestants  do  not  despise  Jesus  Christ." 

"Perhaps  not  in  theory,  but  in  practice,  which  is  worse,'' 
said  La  Harpe  ;  "  it  is  too  obvious  from  their  refusal  to  comply 
with  his  words.  Far  be  it  from  me,"  added  he  with  emotion. 
"  to  be  severe  on  any  one;  but  you  ask  me  where  true  faith  is 
to  be  found,  and  I  should  not  be  your  friend  if  I  gave  you  a 
prevaricating  answer.  According  to  what  you  have  yourself 
stated  to  me,  Protestants  have  no  fixed  belief,  or  rather  they 
believe  nothing:  neither  have  they  the  slightest  regard  to  the 
order  which  Jesus  Christ  gave  to  the  ministers  of  his  Chn.ch, 
'to  teach  all  nations,'  since  they  make  no  account  of  what  the 
*  Luke  r  1« 


174  FATHER  OSWALD. 

Church  teaches,  decides,  and  prescribes  in  virtue  of  tnat  divine 
mission:  on  the  contrary,  each  individual  may  regulate  his 
belief  by  his  own  opinion,  and  change  it  according  to  his  fancy, 
or  deny  any  thing  according  to  his  own  caprice;  incurring  thn.s 
the  anathema  pronounced  by  Jesus  Christ,  '  He  that  believeth 
not,  shall  be  condemned.'  "* 

'•  Iu  other  words,"  interrupted  Sefton  impatiently,  "yon  mean 
to  tell  me,  that  the  Catholic  Church  is  the  Church  founded  by 
Jesus  Christ,  and  that  the  true  faith  is  to  be  found  only  in  that 
Church." 

"  Exactly  so,"  said  La  Harpc. 

Sefton  was  silent  ibra  few  minutes,  and  then  said  vehemently, 
"  I  never  will  believe  that  Jesus  Christ  requires  us  to  give  credit 
to  all  the  gross  superstitions  and  traditions  of  the  Catholic 
Church,  nor  that  He  ever  revealed  or  sanctioned  them." 

"  Perhaps,"  replied  La  Harpe,  "  what  you  call  superstitions 
aro  not  really  superstitions,  but  very  well  founded  pious  practices, 
of  which  y  >u  might  even  approve,  if  you  understood  them  ;  and 
as  to  the  traditions  received  by  the  Church,  if  you  took  the  trou- 
ble to  examine,  you  would  find  their  observance  commanded  in 
the  Bible.  Listen  to  St.  Paul :  '  Therefore,  brethren,  stand  fast ; 
and  hold  the  traditions  which  you  have  learned,  whether/'?/  innrd, 
or  by  our  cpisttt..1  Thus,  we  are  exhorted  to  hold  the  same 
steadfast  faith,  whether  it  be  handed  down  to  us  by  word  of 
mouth,  or  by  a  written  document.  And  surely  it  is  as  easy  ior 
God  to  preserve  the  purity  of  faith  in  his  Church  by  one  means 
as  by  the  other." 

"  I  cannot  think  so;"  said  Sefton,  "do  we  not  see  daily  the 
most  simple  story  wonderfully  changed  and  metamorphosed 
when  it  has  run  through  the  editions  of  three  or  four  months." 

"  No  doubt,"  said  La  Harpe  quietly,  "  wlicre  there  is  no  jrro- 
nits  f>f  the  Spirit,  of  Ti'u'h  lo  guide  it.'' 

"  Well,  give  me  the  Bible  after  all ;  that  cannot  be  changed  " 

"  No  doubt,  as  long  as  the  same  Spirit  of  truth  watches  over 
its  preservation." 

"  Well,  well,  I  must  be  greatly  changed  indeed."  said  Se'ton 
bitterlv,  " before  I  can  receive  the  traditions  of  your  Church; 
it  would  require  a  miracle,  I  think,  to  make  me  a  Catholic  :  no, 
no;  that  is  not  very  likely." 

"  Every  thing  is  possible  to  the  grace  of  God,"  said  La  Harpe 
feelingly. 

"  I  do  not  desire  such  a  grace,  I  am  sure  !"  exclaimed  Se'ton, 
vehemently;  "but  no,"  added  he,  suddenly  stopping, — •'  I  <!o 
desire  that  God  would  enable  me  to  find  out  the  truth,  because 
*  Mark  xvi.  16  t  2  Then.  ii.  14 


FATHER  OSWALD.  175 

t  reallv  \visi*  '.o  believe  what  is  right,  and  to  save  my  soul ;  but 
it'  I  feei  certain  of  any  thing  in  this  world,  it  is  of  the  corruption 
01'  the  Catholic  Church." 

"Bravo!"  exclaimed  La  Harpe,  laughing;  "only  examine, 
but  examine  with  that  candour  and  sincerity  which  the  impor- 
tance of  the  matter  requires.  Remember,  that  salvation  depends 
upon  a  right  determination.  Let  no  human  consideration  bias 
your  resolution  ;  keep  steadily  in  your  mind  the  maxim  of  our 
Lord.  '  What  will  it  avail  a"  man  if  he  gain  the  whole  world 
and  iose  his  own  soul  V  but  again,  I  entreat  you  to  examine." 

"  That  I  certainly  intend  to  do,  were  it  only  to  amuse  myself, 
and  enable  me  to  reclaim  my  poor  deluded  Emma,"  replied  Ed- 
ward wilh  a  sigh,  and  an  expression  of  regret  and  melancholy 
on  his  fine  countenance,  which  went  quite  to  La  Harpe's  heart 
Selton  rose  and  took  his  candle,  saying  he  wished  to  finish  a 
letter  to  her  for  the  morrow's  post. 


CH  APT  ER    XX11. 

"  The  spirit  that  I  have  seen 
May  be  a  devil  :  and  the  devil  hath  power 
To  assume  a  pleasing  shape." — SHAKSPEARE. 

THE  next  morning  at.  ten  o'clock,  Edward,  punctual  ton:'.? 
engagement,  called  on  Professor  Spielrnann,  who  accompanied 
him  to  hear  the  sermon  of  the  celebrated  Doctor  Untersteken. 
Selton  was  all  anxiety,  and  listened  with  absorbing  attention,  in 
the  eager  hope  of  hearing  the  Word  of  God  delivered  in  its  pure 
and  per.'cct  truth,  and  in  the  full  expectation  of  finding  some 
repose  (or  his  agitated  conscience.  The  exterior  of  the  preacher 
was  by  no  means  prepossessing,  but  he  was  eloquent,  and  his 
stvle  had  something  in  it  that  insensibly  riveted  the  attention. 
His  discourse  could  scarcely  be  called  a  sermon,  as  it  was  rather 
a  review  of  the  ancient  and  new  dogmas  of  the  Christian  faiih, 
in  which  he  very  coolly  set  aside  the  Trinity,  Original  Sin. 
Justification,  the  Satisfaction  of  Christ,  Baptism,  and  the  Lord's 
Supper,  astaushtin  hisown  Church.  He  took  particular  pa  ins 
to  sift  the  doctrinal  part  of  the  New  Testament  of  its  irratinnal- 
ism ;  but  the  main  object  of  his  discourse  was  evidently  to 
reconcile  to  the  laws  of  reason  and  nature  those  deviations  from 
the  course  of  both,  which  its  recorded  miracles  preseut:  he  en- 


170  FATh&R  OSWAL1>. 

deavoured  to  show,  that  "  many  of  these  miracles  were  mere 
exaggerations  of  natural  phenomena ;  that  the  wonderful  cures 
performed  by  Christ  might  be  the  effects  of  animal  magnetism,  or 
some  other  natural,  though  occult  power;  he  even  went  so  far 
as  to  assert,  that  though  Christ  seemed  to  the  bystanders  to  ex- 
pire on  the  cross,  yet  he  probably  only  swooned  from  loss  of 
blood,  and  after  a  few  hours,  being  given  up  to  the  sedulous  care 
of  his  friends,  he  returned  to  a  conscious  state,  and  lay  concealed 
until  the  third  day.  Thus,  the  most  rational  way  of  accounting 
for  the  resurrection,  as  detailed  by  the  Evangelists,  was  to  con- 
sider it  as  a  sort  of  poetic  mythus,  which  was  to  be  received  in 
some  moral  or  allegorical  sense;  this  being  clear  from  theepis- 
tJes  of  Paul  who  continually  applies  it  to  that  purpose."  No 
words  can  describe  the  astonishment  of  Edward,  nor  the  desola- 
tion and  oppression  of  heart  which  he  experienced  as  he  hur- 
ried out  of  the  church;  he  disembarrassed  himself  of  the  ccm- 
pany  of  Professor  Spiplmann  by  a  marked  and  haughty  how  at 
the  church  door,  and  hastened  back  to  the  hotel,  where  he  had 
promised  to  rejoin  La  Harpe  after  the  service,  that  they  might 
together  explore  some  of  the  environs  of  Geneva.  Sefton  was 
partly  in  hopes  that  his  friend  would  not  ask  him  any  thing  about 
the  sermon ;  but  in  this  he  was  mistaken ;  for  as  soon  as  they 
were  fairly  out  of  town,  La  Harpe  said  to  him,  "  Well  my  good 
friend,  how  did  you  like  your  celebrated  preacher  V 

Sefton  hesitated  a  little,  and  then  said  in  a  careless  tone,  "  1 
can't  say  I.  was  so  much  pleased  with  Doctor  Untersteken  as  I 
had  expected  ;:  still  he  is  certainly  eloquent. 

"Then  it  was  the  matter  which  did  not  please,  I  imagine  1" 
replied  La  Harpe. 

Se.ton  paused  a  moment,  and  then  said,  "  Well,  Sir,  to  speak 
candidlv,  I  have  been  not  only  very  much  disappointed,  but 
very  much  disgusted." 

Seiton  then  gave  him  a  detailed  account  of  the  sermon,  and 
added  with  a  deep  sigh — 

"  I  fear  from  all  this,  revealed  religion  is  at  a  very  low  ehh 
indeed  at  Geneva:  truly,  if  I  had  shut  my  eyes,  I  might  have 
fane  ed  myself  in  a  Jewish  synagogue,  or  listening  to  the  effu- 
sions of  some  philosopher  in  Paris.  Certainly,  I  should  be  puz- 
zled to  draw  a  line  o;  demarkation  between  the  rationalists  oi 
Switzerland  and  the  Deists  of  France." 

"  Oh  !  my  dear  Sefton,  you  see  again  clearly  the  dire  effects 
of  the  Protestant  principle  pushed  to  its  full  extent.  .There  is, 
in  fact,  no  distinction  between  rationalism  and  Deism  :  of  the 
two,  the  Deists  are  the  more  honest;  they  have  no  pretensions 
to  religion,  while  the  rationalists  wear  the  mask;  alas  !  I  fear  it 


FATHER  OSWALD.  1TJ 

will  not  te  long  before  you  will  have  plenty  of  them  in  En^- 
.ana." 

"  I  trust  not,'1  replied  Edward ;  "  but  then  to  deny  the  miracles 
of  the  Redeemer,  which  established  and  confirmed  His  divine 
nission,  seems  to  me  the  very  essence  of  inconsistency,  if  they 
admit,  as  the}'  pretend,  the  authenticity  of  the  Bible,  or  that  in 
His  person  were  fulfilled  the  prophecies  of  the  Old  Testament." 

"Truly,"  said  La  Harpe,  smiling,  "the  Protestants  of  these 
enlightened  times  are  very  happy  in  their  orthodoxy !  I  wonder 
how  the  poor,  ignorant,  primitive  Christians,  could  find  the  way 
to  Heaven.  They  lived  near  the  limes  o!' Christ  and  his  Apos- 
tles. They  highly  valued  and  diligently  read  the  Scriptures, 
and  some  of  them  wrote  commentaries  upon  them ;  but  yet  it 
seems  they  knew  little  or  nothing  of  their  religion!" 

Seiton  groaned  aloud. 

"And  then  again/'  continued  E,a  Hnrpe,  "these  enlightened 
rationalists  seem  to  have  entirely  forgotten  the  pains  so  many  of 
the  incredulous  Jews  look  to  discredit  our  Saviour's  miracles,  to 
deny  His  divinity,  and  more  especially  the  great  and  vital  mira- 
cle of  the  Resurrection,  upon  the  truth  of  which  depended  the 
establishment  of  His  divinity  and  the  truth  of  His  doctrines: 
but  all  was  unavailing,  even  in  those  days,  when  the  personal 
and  bitter  enemies  of  the  Saviour  did  their  utmost  to  prevent  the 
establishment  of  His  divine  religion." 

"  Yes,  it  cannot  be  denied  that  the  truths  taught  by  our  Sa- 
viour, and  which  ought  to  be  the  objects  of  our  firm  faith  if  we 
hope  to  be  saved,  were  established  by  miracles  wrought  both  by 
Christ  and  His  Apostles  Now,  if  miracles  had  not  long  ago 
ceased,  one  might,  amidst  the  chaos  of  all  the  different  sects  of 
Christians,  know  yet  where  to  find  the  one.  true  faith,  the  sarae 
as  it  existed  in  the  time  of  Christ  and  His  .Apostles:  lor  Go.l 
certainly  would  not  work  a  miracle  to  establish  and  propagate  a 
falsehood.  But  there  are  no  miracles  now;  and  truth  does  in- 
deed lie  at  the  bottom  of  a  well." 

"  Miracles  have  -not  ceased,"  said  La  Hyrpe,  "  nor  is  the 
promise  of  our  Saviour  null  and  void,  when  Ho  assures  his  fol- 
lowers that  they  'who  believe  in  Him,  shall  work  even  greater 
miracles  than  He  himself.'*  Now  that  promise  was  nol  limited 
to  any  time;  and  in  all  ages  miracles  have  taken  place,  and  still 
take  place,  amongst  the  faithful  l>eJievers  in  Christ." 

"  I'll  tell  you  what,  La  Harpe/'  exclaimed  Sefton  fervently, 
'  if  I  could  once  be  fully  convinced  of  the  existence  of  a  real 
miracle  taking  place  in  these  days,  in  confirmation  of  the  faith 
of  any  sect  of  Christians,  I  would  instantly  embrace  thai  faith: 

*  John  xii-.  1'J. 
16 


178  FATHER  OSWALD. 

but  there  is  no  such  thing  now ;  and  what  you  call  miracles,  are 
no  doubt  the  twaddle  and  superstition  of  a  set  of  foolish  old  men 
and  women." 

"  Surely,"  said  La  Harpe,  "  you  cannot  question  the  recent 
miracle  at  Migne,  so  well  attested  by  three  or  lour  thousand  eye- 
witnesses ?" 

"  What  miracle  was  that,  pray  1" 

"  Did  you  never  hear  of  a  luminous  cross  which  appeared  in 
the  sky  a  little  after  night-fall  V 

"Yes;  now  I  recollect  the.  English  newspapers  related  tie 
fact,  and  easily  explained  it  by  appealing  to  the  effect  of  the 
magic  lantern ;  a  paltry  trick  played  upon  the  ignorance  of  the 
jpoor  peasants." 

"  The  man  who  advanced  such  an  explanation,  only  betrays 
his  own  ignorance,"  said  La  Harpe.  "  Whoever  has  the  slight- 
est notion  of  the  laws  of  light,  must  know  that  the  thing  itself 
is  impossible.  No  magic  lantern  can  throw  an  image  on  the 
vacant  air.  What,  then,  must  we  think  of  the  gullibility  of 
Englishmen,  who  can  content  themselves  with  such  silly  rea- 
sons'?" 

"  You  are  right  in  your  philosophy,"  replied  Sefton.  "  But 
what  was  the  object  of  so  extraordinary  a  portent  1" 

"  It  is  not  for  us  to  search  too  closely  into  the  counsels  of 
God,  but  to  adore  with  profound  humility  whenever  we  see  His 
mighty  arm  stretched  forth.  You  may  remember  that  a  mission 
had  just  been  concluded  with  the  ceremony  of  erecting  a  cross 
in  the  churchyard.  The  Missionary,  standing  at  the  toot  of  it, 
was  haranguing  a  numerous  audience,  and  took  occasion  to 
appeal  to  the  glorious  cross  which  appeared  to  Constantine. 
Twilight  was  just  closing,  the  sky  was  serene,  and  at  that  mo- 
ment a  blight  and  well-defined  cross,  about  sixty  feet  in  length, 
appeared  in  the  air  in  a  horizontal  position,  extending  from  the 
end  of  the  church.  The  vision  lasted  for  half  an  hour,  and 
then  gradually  faded.  Many  at  the  time  foreboded  evil  to 
France.  Three  years  have  scarcely  elapsed,  and  we  have  seen 
Paris  deluged  with  blood  :  altars  profaned  ;  and  the  sacred  image 
•of  the  crucified  Redeemer  insulted,  broken,  and  dragged  through 
ithe  kennels  of  the  city-  We  may  surely  suppose  that  God  in 
His  mercy  gave  this  warning  to  His  faithful  servants,  that  they 
might  rely  upon  His  protection  when  the  day  of  trial  should 
arrive." 

Sefton  listened  with  fixed  attention  and  deep  interest,  and 
after  a  short  pause,  obserred,  "Admitting  the  reality  of  the  fact 
— and  I  do  not  see  how  it  can  be  denied — and  considering  that 
it  cannot  be  explained  on  physical  principles,  we  must  con- 


FATHER  OSWALD.  179 

less  that '  the  finger  of  God  was  there.'  Yet  I  do  not  see  that 
ihis  prodigy  makes  more  for  Catholicity  than  for  Christianity  in 
general." 

"  Consider,  however,  all  the  circumstances,"  replied  La 
Harpe.  "  A  cross  is  erected ;  veneration  is  paid  to  it  by  a  pros- 
trate multitude ;  a  zealous  missionary  exhorts  them  ever  to  con- 
tinue in  their  holy  sentiments;  and  he  assures  them  that,  like 
Constantine,  '  in  this  sign  they  shall  conquer.'  Now,  these  acts 
and  sentiments  are  peculiarly  Catholic,  and  God  sanctioned  them 
by  an  evident  miracle." 

Sefton  was  silent,  and  La  Harpe  continued :  "  I  could  appeai. 
to  many  other  modern  and  well-authenticated  miracles,  but  I  will 
only  mention  one,  and  that  is  the  standing  miracle  of  the  lique- 
faction of  the  blood  of  St.  Januarius  in  Naples,  which  takes 
place  twice  or  thrice  in  every  year." 

"  Arrant  nonsense !  my  good  Sir,  that  at  least  is  a  mere  trick; 
I  do  not  doubt  that  the  mad  enthusiasm  of  the  common  people 
make  them  fancy  they  see  it  liquei'y ;  but  I  shall  never  believe 
any  such  humbug." 

"  Supposing  you  were  to  see  it  with  your  own  eyes."  askea 
La  Harpe,  inquiringly,  "  what-would  you  say  then?" 

"I  shall  never  see  any  such  thing,"  said  befton,  "  and  there- 
fore I  need  not  trouble  myself  about  what  would  be  the  result  ot 
such  a  sight ;  I  think  I  should  sooner  doubt  my  own  eye-sight, 
and  believe  I  was  deluded  by  some  trick." 

"  You  had  better  examine  the  matter,  I  think,"  said  La  Harpe. 

"  To  be  sure,  I  intend  to  examine  it,"  replied  Sefton,  "  in  or- 
der that  I  may  have  the  satisfaction  of  contradicting  all  the  false 
statements  which  I  have  so  often  heard." 

"  Well,  lam  content  if  you  fairly  examine  it, "said  La  Harpe; 
<:  but  tell  me  candidly  Sefton,  did  you  ever  hear  of  Luther  or 
Calvin  working  miracles  1" 

"  No,  I  certainly  never  did,"  answered  he,  unable  to  suppress 
a  smile,  "nor  old  Harry  the  Eighth  either;  he  was  not  quite 
saint  enough  for  that,  with  his  six  wives." 

"Nor  Luther,  with  his  Catherine  Bore;  and  yet  they  pre- 
tended they  had  a  mission  from  Heaven  to  deny  and  change  the 
divine  truths  revealed  to  mankind  by  the  Son  ot  the  living  God." 

Edward  seemed  struck  with  this  remark,  End  La  Harpe  con- 
tinued, "  Did  you  ever  read  the  history  of  the  introduction  cl 
Christianity  into  the  East,  by  St.  Francis  Xavier  1" 

"  Yes,"  said  Edward,  "  I  have  read  his  lite,  by  Dryden,  and 
very  beautifully  written  it  is." 

"  Well,  there  are  many  miracles  related  of  him,  wrought  in 
confirmation  of  his  mission  :  now,  what  religion  did  he  establish 
there  V 


180  F.1THER  OSWALD. 

"  The  Catholic  religion,  I  believe,"  said  Selton,  looking  a  littr 
foolish.  "  but  that  was  ages  ago." 

"  It  was  just  about  the  lime  of  the  Reformation,"  obse:  fed  La 
Harpo,  "  and  at  the  very  time  God  established  the  truth  of  the 
Catholic  religion  in  Asia  by  miracles,  Luther,  Calvin,  and  Henry 
the  Eighth,  tor  the  gratification  of  their  own  passions,  thought 
proper  to  change  it,  and  to  declare  that  the  Catholic  Church  had 
i'allen  into  error." 

At  this  point  of  their  conversation,  they  turned  the  sharp 
corner  of  a  projecting  rock,  and  came  suddenly  upon  a  party 
seated  on  the  grass,  who  were  busily  engaged  in  demolishing  a 
dcjinnii  a  la  ftiurclic.lle.  To  Selton's  agreeable  surprise,  he  re- 
cognized amongst  them  his  old  friend,  the  Bishop  of  S , 

who  introduced  him  to  Mrs.  Boren,  and  also  to  Captain  Boren, 
arid  his  sister  Lavinia,  his  eldest  son  and  daughter.  La  Harpe 
and  Sel'ton  joined  the  luncheon  party,  and  they  spent  the  re- 
mainder of  the  day  together.  The  Bishop  and  his  1'amilv  were 
on  their  way  to  Rome,  where  they  proposed  passing  the  winter ; 
he  insisted  that  Sefton  and  his  friend  should  dine  with  them  on 
ihe  following  day,  which  they  accordingly  did.  In  the  evening, 
I  he  captain  and  the  ladies  went  to  the  theatre,  when  Sefton  took 
that  opportunity  of  relating  to  the  Bishop  the  observations  he 
had  made  on  religion  sinr<:  his  arrival  in  Geneva,  particularly 
descanting  on  Doctor  Unicrsteken's  sermon. 

"  It  is  an  alarming  degree  of  incredulity,"  observed  the  Bishop, 
"  but  it  does  not  surprise  me;  it  only  convinces  me  more  of  the 
wisdom  of  what  some  people  are  pleased  to  term  a  new  sect  of 
Protestants,*  to  which  Oxford  has  had  the  honour  of  giving  birth, 
and  to  which  1  am  much  inclined  myself." 

"Ah!  indeed;  1  have  not  heard  of  it,"  said  Sefton  eagerly. 

"  Great  caution  is  requisite  in  any  change  or  modification  of 
doctrines,"  said  the  Bishop  solemnly;  "  but  when  we  have  such 
men  as  Pusey,  Newman,  and  Keble.  as  supporters,  I  think  we 
need  not  much  fear  error." 

'•  What  are  the  doctrines  of  this  new  sect,  my  Lord  V  asked 
Sefion,  looking  at  the  same  time  a  little  uneasily  in  the  direc- 
tion where  La  Harpe  was  seated,  reading  a  newspaper. 

"  Why,"  answered  the  Bishop,  "they  principally  contend  thai 
the  Church  is  the  sole  depository  of  divine  truth,  which  is  no/ 
merely  in  the  Bible,  but  also  in  tradition,  as  handed  down  to  u> 
in  the  \vritings  of  the  early  Christian  Fathers,  and  that  in  iheii 
works  we  must  seek  for  the  true  exposition  of  the  Scriptures 
as  well  as  the  primitive  practice  of  all  Christian  ordinances 
The  Church,  and  not  the  Bible,  should  be  the  guide  in  matten 
s/f  faith  and  practice :  for  the  interpretation  put  upon  the  Scrip 
•  Usually  denominated  Fuscyites  from  one  of  their  leading  divines. 


FATHER  OSWALD.  181 

tiires  by  the  Bishops,  who  are  the  legitimate  successors  of  the 
Apostles,  divinely  appointed  to  teach  and  govern  the  Church, 
must  necessarily  be  the  correct  one,  because  they  have  inherited 
the  promises  of  the  unerring  Spirit,  and  therefore  it  is  wrong  to 
put  any  other  construction,  or  to  inquire  i'arther  into  the  matter. 
They  object  also  to  the  indiscriminate  reading  of  the  Bible ;  they 
deny  that  it  is  the  guide  of  the  laity,  contending  that  it  should 
be  restricted  to  the  Clergy,  and  to  the  learned;  in  short,  they 
virtually  prohibit  the  reading  of  the  Bible  to  the  people,  pro- 
Lounce  the  Church  infallible,  and  declare,  that  through  her  only 
can  Divine  truth  be  attained." 

"  A  deal  of  Catholicity  in  those  doctrines,"  said  La  Harpe, 
looking  up  from  his  newspaper. 

"  Too  much  so  for  my  taste."  exclaimed  Sefton  scornfully. 

"  We  must  not  be  rash  and  hasty,  my  good  friend,"  replied 
the  Bishop :  "  liberty  of  conscience  is  a  precious  Protestant 
right  of  which  we  may  all  lawfully  avail  ourselves." 

"  Have  all  the  Bishops  agVeed  upon  this  doctrine  V  inquired 
La  Harpe. 

"  By  no  means,  Sir.  by  no  manner  of  means,"  said  Dr.  Boren ; 
*  in  England,  Monsieur  La  Harpe,  every  one  may  enjoy  liN>riy 
jf  conscience." 

"I  wish  them  joy  of  it,"  said  La  Harpe,  laughing:  "your 
jew  sect  will  not  be  likely  to  be  very  uniform  in  the  interpreta- 
tion of  the  Bible,  if  the  heads  cannot  yet  think  in  concert." 

The  Bishop  looked  annoyed,  and  the  two  guests  shortly  after 
Sook  their  leave. 

La  Harpe  cou.d  not  help  rallying  Edward  on  the  new  Protest- 
ani  sect  a  little  as  they  walked  home :  but  as  he  seemed  hurt  and 
out  of  spirits,  forbore  to  enlarge  on  the  subject,  and  turned  the 
conversation.  Poor  Sefton  retired  to  bed  more  puzzled  and  anx- 
ious than  ever.  He  passed  a  sleepless  night ;  his  soul  was 
tossed  about  on  a  sea  of  doubts  and  difficulties.  On  one  hand, 
he  saw  the  dark  abyss  of  Rationalism  and  Deism  into  which 
*he  unrestricted  right  of  private  judgment  must  necessarily 
plunge  the  Christian  world  ;  on  the  other,  he  trembled  at  the  ap- 
parent necessity  of  interposing  authority  as  a  guide  to  the  truth  ; 
for  that  must  lead  directly  to  Catholicity,  a  consummation  to  his 
mind  as  frightful  as  Rationalism.  Yet  he  could  devise  no  mid- 
dle course.  His  good  sense  told  him,  that  any  auihority  less 
'.han  one  absolute,  supreme,  without  appeal,  and  consequenlly 
infallible,  could  be  no  authority  at  all  in  deciding  questions  of 
laith,  and  he  recoiled  from  the  idea  of  subjecting  his  free-bcm 
soul  to  any  such  bondage.* 

*  On  the  "  Oxford  Movement,"  the  inquisitive  render  should  consult 
WlMaaail  On  the  High   Church  Claims;  aiid  the  Dublin  Review,  passun 
botn  for  sale  by  Casserly  &  Sons,  IN.  Y 
16* 


182  FATHER  OSWALD. 


CHAPTER    XXII  I. 

"  God  of  evening's  yellow  ray  ! 
God  of  yonder  dawning  day, 
That  rises  from  ilie  distant  sea, 
Like  breathing  of  Eternity  ' 
Thine  the  (laming  sphere  of  light, 
Thine  the  darkness  of  the  night  '. 
Thine  are  all  the  gems  o'.  even, 
(iod  of  Angels,  God  of  Heaven  ! 
God  of  life,  that  fade  shall  never, 
Glory  to  thy  name  for  ever  '." — HOGG 

TIIR  wonderful  works  of  God  in  the  beauties  of  nature  have 
generally  a  powerful  influence  on  characters  of  an  ardent  tem- 
perament, in  raising  the  mind  from  sublunary  things  to  contem- 
plate the  ineffable  wonders  and  glories  of  the  Creator, — in  soo.h- 
ing  grief,  in  dissipating  melancholy,  and  calming  fierce  and 
consuming  passion.  Seilon  rose  be*lbre  it  was  light  the  follow- 
ing morning,  the  agitated  and  desponding  state  of  his  mind 
prevented  sleep:  before  dawn  he  was  on  the  borders  of  the 
beautiful  lake  of  Geneva,  to  watch  the  glories  of  the  rising  sun. 
He  spent  that  day  in  musing  melancholy,  and  in  silent  commun- 
ing with  his  troubled  spirit,  now  listlessly  stretched  on  the  grass 
at  the  verge  of  the  blue  Leman,  now  abandoned  in  a  little  skiff 
on  its  calm  waters,  absorbed  and  entranced  in  admiration  at  the 
beautiful  scenery  around  him.  It  was  during  the  stillness  ot 
that  passive  day  that  Sefton  ardently  prayed  to  the  great  God  ol 
nature  from  the  inward  recesses  of  his  heart,  to  direct  him  in 
the  ways  of  salvation,  and  implored  the  Almighty,  that  if  He 
had  really  established  a  revealed  religion  on  earth,  to  enable 
him  to  find  it ;  it  was  during  the  calmness  of  that  day,  spent  on 
the  bosom  of  the  lake  of  Geneva,  that  he  vowed  to  his  own  soul 
to  spare  no  pains  in  search  of  truth,  and  generously  and  instantly 
to  embrace  it  when  found.  Twilight  had  succeeded  the  rich 
and  glowing  beams  of  the  setting  sun,  and  he  had  lelt  peace  and 
calm  in  his  heart  ere  he  rejoined  La  Harpe  at  the  hotel.  His 
friend  with  pleasure  perceived,  that  though  there  was  a  shade  ol 
pensive  melancholy  in  Sefton's  eye,  yet,  still  his  manner  and 
conversation  were  more  calm  and  cheerful  than  he  had  ever 
observed  from  the  first  period  of  their  acquaintance.  In  the 
evening,  Edward  proposed  that  they  should  set  out  the  next 
morning  to  visit  Mont  Blanc  and  the  valley  Chainouni.  The 
succeeding  week  wa$  accordingly  spent  in  ever-varying  emo- 
tions of  wonder  and  rapture,  at  the  stupendous  beauties  of  na- 
mre  which  they  witnessed.  On  their  return  to  Geneva,  MOD. 


FATHER  OSWALD.  183 

uenr  La  Harpe  joined  the  friends  whom  it  had  been  his  intention 
to  visit  on  leaving  Paris,  and  Seiton  set  off  towards  Italy.  They 
parted  with  regret,  and  not  without  mutual  promises  of  renew- 
ing their  acquaintance  at  some  future  period.  As  the  Bishop  of 

S and  his  family  proposed  remaining  another  fortnight  at 

Geneva,  not  wishing  to  reach  Rome  till  Christmas,  Edward  had 
no  fancy  to  wait  for  them,  and  was  thus  lorced  to  the  disagree- 
able alternative  of  travelling  alone;  he  amused  himself  as  best 
he  could  t>y  "  Guide  Books"  and  "  Classical  Tours,"  and  when 
he  felt  gloomy  or  oppressed,  he  consoled  his  heart  by  reading 
the  little  "Following  of  Christ,"  which  sister  Angela  had  given 
him;  or  in  meditating  on  the  sublime  and  wonderful  truths  and 
events  recorded  in  a  neat  pocket  edition  of  the  New  Testament, 
a  parting  gift  from  his  friend  La  Harpe.  He  made  the  passage 
of  the  Alps  across  the  Simplon,  the  beauties  of  which  infinitely 
surpassed  his  most  ardent  anticipations.  He  visited  on  his  route 
the  celebrated  university  of  Pavia,  and  its  exquisite  Certosa,  and 
spent  a  little  lime  at  the  Lago  Maggiore,  and  the  Borromian 
Isles.  In  Milan,  Parma,  Florence,  and  Siena,  he  failed  not  to 
examine  all  that  was  curious  and  interesting.  Yet  how  often 
did  ha  during  this  journey  wish  for  the  society  of  his  poor 
Emma  ;  often  did  he  even  sorrow  and  grieve  at  their  separation, 
and  yearn  towards  her  with  feelings  of  deep  affection.  Nor 
could  he  stiile  the  pangs  of  remorse  which  he  endured  at  his 
conduct  towards  her.  Frequently  would  he  draw  from  his 
bosom  her  miniature,  gaze  on  it  for  a  while  with  the  ibndest 
emotion,  press  it  to  his  lips,  and  bathe  it  with  his  tears;  and  still 
would  he  gaze,  until  he  lound  relief.  As  often  as  he  replaced  it 
nearest  to  his  heart,  the  sight  of  the  medal  would  recal  the 
grateful  remembrance  of  sister  Angela,  and  he  again  thanked 
God,  who  had  sent  him  in  the  hour  of  his  utmost  need  so  kind 
a  benefactress.  As  Edward  approached  Rome,  his  desire  to  be- 
hold the  Eternal  City  increased  every  moment ;  he  sedulously 
recalled  to  his  imagination  all  his  schoolboy  associations  with 
hat  classic  spot;  he  reflected  how  Rome  had  ever  from  imme- 
morial ages  been  an  object  of  the  most  vivid  interest  to  all  na- 
tions and  countries;  and  how  every  citizen  of  the  world  could 
•  'laini  it  r.s  his  home;  he  repassed  in  his  mind  all  he  had  ever 
heard  of  its  unrivalled  antiquities,  of  its  classic  lore,  and  of  its 
spbndid  churches,  and  he  concluded  with  a  sigh  of  regret  that 
this  queen  of  the  universal  world  should  now  be  the  very  citadel 
of  bigotry  and  superstition.  "Yes,"  added  he  to  himself,  -  I 
shall  there  see  the  Pope  in  all  his  splendour,  and  the  Catholic 
religion  in  all  its  vain  pomp  and  magnificence,  and  shall  have 
a  golden  opportuLi.'y  of  fully  convincing  myself  that  Catholicity 


184  FATHER  OSWALD. 

at  .east  is  not  the  religion  founded  by  the  Divine  Saviour  of 
mankind."  During  tlie  last  post  Irani  Ronciglione,  he  was  all 
eagerness  to  catcli  the  first  glimpse  of  this  long  desired  object; 
yet  on  the  approach  to  Rome  from  the  Tuscan  road,  it  does  not 
burst  upon  the  traveller  in  that  collected  splendour  v/hich  early 
associations  and  an  ardent  imagination  had  led  him  to  antici- 
pate. The  dome  of  St.  Peter's  is  first  visible,  and  as  one  ap- 
proaches nearer  to  the  desired  object — to  the  city  which  has  suck 
claims  on  the  recollections  of  the  classic — such  ties  on  fhe  heart 
and  feelings  of  the  Christian,  the  surrounding  objects  of  Nature. 
the  very  ground,  the  trees,  the  whole  scene  appear  to  assume  a 
majestic  character  of  still  and  solemn  calmness,  which  one  sen- 
sibly and  deeply  feels.  It  was  nearly  dusk  when  Selton  entered 
the  Porta  del  Popolo ;  but  the  moment  he  alighted  at  Serny's 
Hotel,  he  ordered  a  carriage,  and  drove  direct  to  St.  Peter's,  that 
he  might  at  least  gratify  himself  by  ga/ing  on  its  magnificent 
exterior,  its  splendid  colonnades,  its  external  fountains:  the 
church  was  shut,  and  therefore  he  had  to  wait  for  the  further 
gratification  of  his  curiosity  till  the  next  morning.  The  fol- 
lowing day  he  returned  early,  eager  beyond  expression  to  behold 
the  interior  of  this  stupendous  edifice;  nor  was  he  disappointed: 
he  found  it  in  truth  not  only  magnificent  but  sublime  !  Edward 
felt  penetrated  with  holy  awe  as  he  stood  gazing  on  its  vastness; 
it  seemed  to  him  he  had  never  before  telt  how  holy  the  Almighty 
is,  and  he  raised  his  heart  to  Him  in  a  profound  act  of  adora- 
tion, while  he  was  lost  in  wonder  at  the  splendour  of  such  a 
sanctuary,  raised  to  the  Creator  in  this  earthly  vale,  by  the  weak 
hands  of  .puny  man.  It  is  impossible  to  imagine  that  the  mag- 
nificence and  richness  of  the  materials  employed,  and  the  splen- 
dour of  the  details  of  each  individual  part  taken  separately, 
could  have  been  combined  together  with  more  taste  and  judg- 
ment than  have  been  displayed  to  produce  the  wonderful  har- 
mony, beauty,  and  keeping  which  pervade  the  whole  of  this 
rich  and  immense  temple.  Sei'ton  approached  the  Confession 
of  St.  Peter;  then,  raising  his  eyes  to  the  stupendous  dome  that 
overshadows  it,  hii  exclaimed,  "What  a  magnificent  Mauso- 
leum, raised  to  a  poor  fisherman  of  Galilee  !  This  still  remains 
increasing  in  grandeur  and  splendour,  while  those  of  the  mighty 
Caesars  are  mouldering  into  dust.  Oh  divine  Religion  !  tlion 
alone  couldst  inspire  and  execute  this  more  than  mortal  work  ! 
Yes !  were  I  certain  that  this  gorgeous  tomb  really  incloses  the 
remains  of  the  great  Apostle,  I  too  could  fall  down  and  venerate, 
aye,  and  kiss  the  stones  too,  like  those  simple  but  fervnt  pil- 
grims; and  am  not  I  also  a  pilgrim  at  this  holy  shrine  1  Why, 
then,  shouU  I  hesitate  1  But  no,  it  must  not  be ;"  and  he  Burned 


FATHEK  OSWALD. 


1ST. 


nway  Protestant  prejudice  damping  at  once  the  natural  effusion 
of  a  generous  soul.  Edward  felt  delighted  as  he  gazed  on  this, 
Tand  object;  wandering  from  beauty  to  beauty  in  the  detail  < 
Fts  integral  parts,  now  stopping,  lost  in  admiration  ot  its  unri- 
valled mosaics,  now  absorbed  in  wonder  and  amazement  at  the 
proportion  and  beauty  preserved  amidst  its  prodigious  extent. 
Had  he  been  a  Catholic,  he  would  have  felt,  too,  all  the  deep 
"tithusiasm  and  enraptured  devotion  which  a  Christian  must 
feel  in  such  u  temple,  raised  to  the  awful  Being  that  created  an.l 
preserves  him.  Yes ;  that  heart  must  be  cold  and  cynical  indeed, 
which  can  find  aught  to  cavil  at  in  the  incentives  to  devotion 
presented  in  St  Peter's;  and  the  Catholic  full  well  knows,  tha 
besides  the  extrinsic  beauty  and  value  of  all  around  him,  their 
real  and  intrinsic  value  consists  in  their  being  stamped  with  the 
histr-iy  of  his  religion  from  the  lime  of  Christ  Himself,  and  in 
the  means  which  they  offer  and  afford  for  its  pure  and  perfect 
practice.  Sefton  left  St.  Peter's  with  a  mind  full  of  admiration, 
and  a  determination  often  to  return  and  study  it  in  all  its  details. 
He  wrote  to  Emma  by  that  day's  post  and  gave  her  an  account 
of  all  he  had  seen  adding  that  he  should  now  have  an  opportu- 
nity of  more  fullv  observing  the  Catholic  religion ;  he  expressed 
more  tenderness  "towards  her  than  he  had  yet  done  since  their 
separation,  and  when  he  had  sent  this  letter  o3,  he  felt  his  heart 
a  little  relieved,  knowing  that  she  would  receive  from  U  both 
pleasure  and  consolation. 


CHAPTER    XXIV. 

•  Oh,  Reason!  who  shall  say  what  spells  renew, 
When  least  we  look  for  it,  thy  broken  clue  ! 
Through  what  small  vistas  o'er  ttie  darkened  brain, 
Thy  intellectual  day-beams  burst  again. 
An,:l  how  like  forts,  to  which  beleaguers  win 
Unhoped  for  ontrance,  through  some  friend  witiun 
One  clear  iJ.'K,  wakened  in  thy  breast, 
By  Memoiy'i*  magic  lets  in  all  the  rest." 

THE  next  week  ^as  passed  by  Edward  in  taking  a  rapid  re- 
view of  the  antiquities,  churches,  palaces,  and  other  objects  of 
interest  in  Uorjo.  He  was  both  delighted  and  surprised  with 
w'nat  li"  "S'N  TJ-iving  letters  of  introduction  to  many  ol  the 
noble  fljraar.  families'  and  resident  English,  he  resolved  toavai. 


IS6  FATHER  OSWALD. 

himself  ot  the  urbanity  with  which  he  was  received  to  obtaii 
solid  information  on  the  objects  which  most  excited  either  hi; 
'juriosity  or  interest.  Finding  the  churches  always  open  in  th«. 
mornings,  he  generally  visited  them  early,  and  spent  his  after- 
noon amongst  the  antiquities.  One  morning,  as  he  was  going 
from  church  to  church  with  his  guide-book  in  his  hand,  dili- 
gently examining  the  numberless  tine  pictures,  and  marbles,  and 
sculptured  treasures,  he  entered  the  church  of  St.  Augustine, 
and  was  soon  struck  with  admiration  at  the  beautiful  fresco  <  i 
the  Prophet  Isaiah  by  Rafaelle.  While  earnestly  gazing  at  it; 
his  attention  was  attracted  by  some  one  sobbing  near  him  ;  he 
turned  to  the  other  side  of  the  pillar,  whence  the  sound  came, 
and  saw  a  young  woman  surrounded  by  a  group  of  little  chil- 
dren, apparently  in  the  most  abject  poverty,  kneeling  before  a 
statue  of  the  Madonna  and  Child :  the  poor  woman  was  in 
earnest  prayer,  with  her  arms  extended  towards  the  image. 
SeTton  looked  at  her  compassionately.  "  She  seems  in  great 
distress,"  thought  he  to  himself.  "  What  a  pity  she  should  be 
wasting  her  prayers  before  that  dumb  idol,  instead  of  praying 
lo  God  to  help  her."  He  approached  nearer  to  her  and  asked 
what  distressed  her:  "Alas!  Sir,"  said  she,  endeavouring  to 
subdue  her  sobs  so  as  to  answer  him.  "  my  husband  is  lying  on 
his  death-bed :  neither  I  nor  my  poor  children  tasted  food  all 
yesterday,  and  we  are  come  to  ask  some  to-day  of  the  Madonna, 
and  that  she  may  cure  my  poor  Carlo." 

"  You  had  better  ask  it  of  God,"  said  Sefton. 

"So  I  am  asking  it  of  God,"  answered  the  poor  woman;  "  tor 
our  Lady  can  obtain  all  sne  wishes  of  her  Divine  Son,  and  she 
will  obtain  this  for  me,  I  am  certain,'' 

Edward  looked  up  at  the  Madonna.  The  statue  is  a  very  or- 
dinary production  of  art;  but  he  was  struck  with  the  enormous 
quantities  of  votives  of  all  kinds  with  which  itself,  and  the  sur 
rounding  walls  and  pillars  are  covered. 

"What  is  the  meaning'of  all  these  things  1"  said  he  in  a  half- 
musing  tone  to  the  poor  woman. 

"  They  are  votives,  Sir,  brought  to  the  Madonna  by  those  for 
whom  she  has  worked  miracles  and  obtained  favours." 

"Miracles!  nonsense!  what  superstition  !" 

The  poor  woman  looked  bewildered,  and  returned  with  re- 
newed ardour  to  her  prayers. 

"But  where  do  you  live,  my  poor  woman  1"  said  Sefton. 
looking  at  her  wan  features  and  weeping  children  with  sineen 
sentiments  of  commiseration.  She  told  him  where  she  lived, 
and  he  noted  it  down,  that  he  might  send  Luigi  lo  see  her  and 
her  poor  sick  husband  ;  in  the  meantime,  he  put  into  her  hatd 
a  coup/e  of  scudi 


FATHKR  OSWALD.  18? 

It  would  be  impossible  to  describe  the  mingled  look  of  grati- 
tude and  surprise  with  which  the  poor  creature  gazed  at  him  ; 
she  clasped  her  hands  together  with  l'enrent  thanksgiving,  and 
exclaimed,  "  Did  I  not  tell  you,  Sir,  that  the  Madonna  could 
erraut  me  the  favour  if  she  would  1" 

Sefton  smiled  at  her  simplicity,  and  felt  a  confused  feeling  of 
pleasure  at  having  relieved  her  and  a  vague  sensation  of  won 
der  at  her  attributing  it  to  the  Madonna,  which  it  would  be  dif 
ficult  to  analyze.  He  hastily  left  the  church  and  walked  on 
without  minding  what  route  he  was  taking ;  at  length  he  found 
himself  in  the  Piazza  del  Gesii,  and  seeing  the  fafade  of  a  hand- 
some church  before  him,  he  entered,  and  having  ascertained  that 
it  was  called  the  Gesu,  he  was  soon  busily  employed  in  admir- 
ing Bacdci's  frescos  with  which  it  is  adorned,  as  well  as  the 
many  rich  and  beautiful  treasures  by  which  it  is  distinguished. 
Selton  observed  that  the  church  was  very  full  of  people  ;  that 
there  were  Masses  going  on  at  most  of  the  altars;  that  there 
were  priests  in  the  different  confessionals,  surrounded  by  groups 
of  penitents,  each  in  turn  confessing  their  sins;  and  that  there 
were  several  people  continually  approaching  to  the  high  altar  to 
receive  the  Holy  Communion  ;  he  was  struck  by  the  silence  and 
order  which  prevailed  amidst  all  these  various  acts  of  piety,  anJ 
particularly  by  the  devout  and  serious  demeanour  of  the  pe'jple. 
"I  have  some  idea,"  said  he  to  himself,  "that  this  church  be- 
longs to  the  Jesuits  ;  I  think  I  will  go  into  the  sacristy  to  ask." 
On  inquiry,  he  found  his  conjecture  right,  and  was  told  there 
that  there  was  in  the  house  an  English  Father  of  the  name  of 
Oswald,  if  it  chanced  that  it  was  he  whom  he  was  in  search  of. 
Edward  was  again  surprised,  and  having  sent  up  his  card,  was 
soon  admitted  to  the  Father's  room,  who  had  lately  arrived  in 
Rome  on  business  of  his  order.  Father  Oswald  was  pleased  to 
see  an  old  acquaintance,  and  Sefton  felt  at  the  same  time  min- 
gled sentiments  of  pain  and  pleasure; — pain,  because  it  was 
principally  to  Father  Oswald's  influence  that  he  attri-buted  his 
wife's  having  become  a  Catholic — and  pleasure,  because  he  was 
an  old  acquaintance  whom  he  could  not  help  both  admiring  and 
esteeming.  When  they  had  conversed  together  a  little  of  times 
gone  by,  of  England,  and  of  Emma,  Father  Oswald  offered  to 
show  him  the  rest  of  the  house,  which  offer  Edward  gladly  ac- 
cepted ;  "  For,"  said  he,  "  I  never  was  in  a  house  of  Religious 
in  my  life  before  now." 

'•  You  must  not  fail,  then,  to  visit  some  of  the  monasteries 
and  convents  existing  in  Italy,"  said  Father  Oswald,  "  for  you 
will  find  in  them  many  curio'us  and  interesting  objects,  whica 
will  gratify  your  taste  ibi  literature.'' 


188  FATHER  OSWALD. 

Sefton  bowed.  He  visited  with  much  interest  the  library  anrt 
refectory,  the  poor  and  simple  apartments  of  the  religious,  and 
the  chapel  of  St.  Ignatius,  formed  of  the  room  in  which  tha' 
great  and  holy  man  died  ;  and  near  to  which  there  exists  the 
celebrated  piece  of  perspective  by  Padre  Pozzi.  As  he  accom- 
panied Father  Oswald  to  his  own  room,  they  passed  by  a  beau- 
tiful Madonna  in  the  corridor.  Edward  had  already  remarked 
a  large  crucifix  at  the  bottom  of  the  stairs,  and  he  could  not  help 
asking  the  Father  why  they  were  placed  in  the  passages. 

"  To  raise  the  mind  to  Heaven,  and  to  promote  religious  re- 
collection," answered  he. 

"  It  seems  very  odd  to  me,  Sir,  I  assure  you,  to  see  the  grea< 
use  made  of  all  these  kind  of  tilings  in  Catholic  countries." 

"  When  you  understand  a  little  better  the  explanation  and  use 
of  many  things  you  see  in  our  churches,  your  surprise  will  wear 
off;  nay,  perhaps  even  admiration  may  succeed,'1  replied  Father 
Oswald. 

"  It  will  be  a  long  time  first,  I  believe,"  said  Sefton. 

When  they  were  reseated  in  Father  Oswald's  room,  Edward 
told  him  the  adventure  at  St.  Augustine's,  and  concluded  by  a 
long  tirade  against  the  folly  and  superstition  of  the  people,  who 
fancy  that  miracles  take  place  now-a-days ;  inveighing  particu- 
larly against  the  credulity  of  the  poor  woman,  in  thinking  the 
Madonna  had  any  thing  to  do  with  his  alms. 

"  Perhaps  the  woman  was  a  better  Christian  philosopher  than 
you  imagine,"  said  Father  Oswald,  smiling. 

"  How  do  you  make  that  outl"  said  Sefton. 

"  Because  the  poor  woman,  overlooking  all  secondary  causes, 
referred  the  benefit  she  had  received  to  the  first  great  cause,  'to 
the  Giver  of  all  good  gifts.'  She  remembered,  no  doubt,  what 
she  had  often  been  taught,  that  'not  a  sparrow  falls  on  the  ground 
without  the  Father,'*  and  so  she  wisely  concluded  that  God  had 
heard  her  prayer,  or  rather  the  prayer  of  the  Blessed  Virgin  for 
her,  and  had  sent  her  relief  through  your  hands." 
.  '-There  were  both  wisdom  and  piety  in  that  sentiment,"  re- 
plied Sefton,  "  I  must  allow  it.  if  I  could  persuade  myself  she 
was  capable  of  such  a  reflection." 

"  I  think  her  very  actions  ought  to  convince  you  of  it.  The 
simple  lessons  of  the  Gospel  to  which  I  have  alluded  are  not 
beyond  the  capacity  of  the  most  simple,  understanding." 

"True,"  said  Sefton,  "the  lessons  of  the  Gospel  are  well 
adapted  to  satisfy  a  pious  and  simple  soul ;  still  you  must  allow 
that  the  providence  of  God  over  man  is  a  very  dark  and  my> 
terious  problem  to  the  philosopher." 


FATHER  OSWALD.  *  1SJ 

"Ali  Christian  philosophers,"  replied  Father  Oswald,  "ought 
to  know  that  there  is  a  double  order  of  providence;  one  the 
order  of  grace,  the  other  the  order  of  nature ;  one  regulating 
the  distribution  of  graces  to  the  souls  of  men  by  which  they  are 
disposed,  anil  prepared,  and  helped  forward,  if  they  choose  to 
correspond  by  their  own  free  will,  to  a  supernatural  state  of 
glory;  the  other  regulating  the  disposition  of  secondary  causes, 
by  which  God  brings  about  all  the  changes  in  the  material  world, 
which,  for  his  own  purposes,  He  lias  determined  from  the  begin- 
ning, or,  to  speak  more  accurately,  which  He  iletei mines  from 
eternity  ;  for  with  God  there  is  no  past  or  future,  all  is  one  im- 
movable present.  Now  tie  providence  of  God,  in  the  order  of 
grace,  inspired  into  your  scul  the  desire  to  give  an  alms  co  that 
poor  woman." 

"  But  there  was  no  miracle  in  that,"  interrupted  Sefton. 

"No,  it  was  no  miracle,  though  a  direct  interference  of  the 
Divinity  with  the  soul  of  man;  it  was  no  miracle,  because  it 
was  in  the  ordinary  course  of  providence,  in  the  supernatural 
order  of  grace." 

"But  I  object,"  said  Sefton,  "to  the  belief  that  the  Divinity 
exercises  any  direct  interference  with  the  soul  of  man  ;  it  seems 
to  me  men  have  little  or  no  other  motive  of  action  than  visible 
objects." 

"Unfortunately,  most  men  have  not."  replied  Father  Oswald, 
"  yet  I  know  too  much  of  your  character  not  to  be  certain  that 
Ihis  is  not  your  philosophy, — a  principle  worthy  only  of  those 
brought  up  in  the  school  of  Epicurus.  Indeed,  to  doubf  of  the 
interference  of  God  in  the  concerns  of  man,  is  to  doubt  the  ne- 
cessity and  efficacy  of  prayer.  In  vain  would  Christ  and  His 
Apostles  have  exhorted  us  to  earnest  and  persevering  prayer, 
with  faith  and  confidence  that  our  prayer  would  be  heard,  if  all 
things  were  to  happen  in  an  unchangeable  order,  whether  we 
prayed  or  not." 

"  There  is  deep  reason  in  that,"  said  Sefton  musing. 

"  The  person  who  can  adopt  the  principle  that  we  act  o?ily  on 
sensible  motives,"  continued  the  Father,  "  must  never  have  looked 
into  himself— never  have  consulted  the  motives  of  his  own  heart. 
Did  such  a  one  never  make  a  pious  reflection — never  conceive 
a  holy  desire — never  experience  a  salutary  consolation — never 
form  a  pious  resolution  to  practice  virtue  and  avoid  vice,  un- 
less he  had  been  excited  thereunto  by  some  sensible  object  V 

"  I  cannot  say  that  of  myself,"  replied  Sefton,  "for  I  have  very 
often  made  good  resolutions,  and  felt  interior  consolations  too, 
without  the  influence  of  sensible  objects." 

"  Of  that  I  am  fully  aware,"  answered  Father  Oswald,  "  but 


190  ^  FATHER  OSWALD. 

others  there  are,  who,  perhaps  though  rarely,  have  not;  and 
more  are  they  to  be  pitied :  but  then  did  they  never  feel  a  sud- 
den alarm — an  inward  trouble — a  secret  remorse  lor  deeds  done 
in  the  gratification  of  sense  7  if  they  have,  what  is  all  this  but 
the  voice  of  God  speaking  to  the  heart — a  direct  interference  of 
the  Divinity  with  the  soul  of  man  1'' 

"  It  seems  like  it,  certainly,"  said  Edward. 

"  No  concatenation  of  secondary  causes,  no  material,  sensible 
object  enters  here,"  pursued  Father  Oswald;  '"  To-day,  if  you 
shall  hear  his  voice,  harden  not  your  hearts.'  It  is  not  said,  to- 
day if  you  hear  the  thunder  roll,  or  the  earth  groan  beneath  your 
feet,  'harden  noty  our  hearts:'  no,  but  when  you  hear  His  small, 
still,  powerful,  but  gentle  voice  whispering  in  your  heart,  then 
you  are  warned  to  listen  to,  and  receive  it;  still  there  is  no 
miracle  in  that,  because,  as  I  observed  before,  it  is  in  the  ordi- 
nary course  of  providence,  in  the  supernatural  order  of  grace. 
When  St.  Paul  was  struck  down  from  his  horse,  when  the  thiel 
was  converted  on  the  cross,  when  Magdalen  threw  herself  at 
the  feet  of  Jesus,  when  Augustine  heard  '  Tolle,  lege,'  and  a 
hundred  other  instances  of  special  and  extraordinary  interference, 
we  readily  admit  a  miracle  in  the  supernatural  order  of  grace. 
It  is  equally  true  that  God  often  ordains  the  course  of  nature  in 
such  a  special  order,  as  to  co-operate  with  His  providence  in  the 
order  of  grace.  He  disposes  secondary  causes,  so  as  to  pro- 
duce plague,  famine,  earthquakes,  and  other  phenomena  ;  or  it 
may  be,  general  and  individual  misfortunes  to  awaken  men 
from  the  lethargy  of  sin,  and  make  them  more  attentive  to  His 
call ;  but  all  these  sensible  motives  will  never  produce  of  them- 
selves one  salutary  act;  grace  alone  can  do  that ;  all  these  mis- 
fortunes may  be  brought  about  by  a  concatenation  of  secondary 
causes,  or  they  may  be  produced  by  a  direct  miracle ;  it  is  some- 
times very  difficult  to  determine  by  which.  But  the  effect  is  the 
same,  for  all  proceed  from  the  same  directing  hand." 

"But  miracles  have  ceased,"  said  Sefton  ;  "and  it  is  my 
opinion,  that  God  in  the  beginning  fixed  and  determined  a  con- 
catenation of  secondary  causes,  according  to  which  every  event 
is  foreseen  and  preordained  to  happen  according  to  a  preordain- 
ed immutable  law." 

"  Taken  in  a  limited  and  general  sense,  what  you  say  is  true," 
said  Father  Oswald;  "and  it  is  wonderful  how  God,  in  all  the 
possible  orders  of  succession,  selected  that  order  which  does 
not  in  the  least  control  the  free  will  of  man.  Bnt  you  are  egre- 
giously  wrong  in  supposing  that  the  law  of  physical  causes 
cannot  be  changed.  It  seems  to  me  little  less  than  blasphemy 
to  pretend  to  subject  God  to  the  physical  laws  of  matter.  What! 


FATHER  OSWALD.  191 

could  not,  OT  did  not  God,  when  He  established  those  laws,  re- 
serve to  Himself  the  right  to  interfere  in  them,  when  and  where 
He  foresaw  that  it  would  be  for  his  own  glory,  or  even  for  the 
good  of  his  creatures  V 

"  It  is  easier,  I  think,  Sir,  to  assert  that  than  to  prove  it,"  said 
Seftcn. 

"  There  is  no  difficulty  in  proving  it,"  replied  Father  Oswald 
mildly.  "  Did  not  God  suspend  the  laws  of  nature  when  the 
waters  of  the  Red  Sea  stood  as  walls  on  each  side  of  the  Israel- 
ites;— when  the  Jordan  opened  to  them  a  passage  ;; — when  the 
sun  and  moon  stood  still  at  the  voice  of  Joshua  ; — when  the  head 
of  the  axe  rose  to  the  surface  of  the  water ; — and  when  Christ 
and  Peter  walked  upon  the  sea  1  Did  not  God  reverse  the  laws 
of  nature  when  the  shadow  of  the  dial  went  back  • — when  Elias 
ascended  in  the  fiery  chariot ; — when  the  dead  man  returned  to 
life  at  the  touch  of  the  Prophet's  bones ; — and  when  Christ  and 
his  Apostles  recalled  the  dead  to  life,  and  gave  light  to  the  blind"? 
Did  He  not  change  the  law  of  nature  when  the  substance  of  the 
rod  of  Moses  was  changed  into  a  serpent ; — when  the  Prophet 
multiplied  the  widow's  oil ; — and  when  Christ  changed  water 
into  wine,  and  multiplied  the  bread  and  fishes  in  the  desert  1  All 
these  are  pregnant  instances  of  the  divine  interference  in  the 
laws  of  nature,  and  can  never  be  explained  by  any  possible 
concatenation  of  second  causes;  therefore  my  conclusion  is, 
that  God  did  reserve  to  Himself  the  right  of  interfering  when, 
and  where,  and  how  He  pleased." 

"Well,"  said  Sefton,  "  I  grant  that  this  interference  did  exist 
in  the  theocracy  of  the  Jews,  and  also  in  the  miracles  wrought 
to  prove  the  mission  of  Jesus  Christ." 

"  Then,"  said  Father  Oswald,  "  if  you  admit  miracles  at  all, 
the  question  is  now  reduced  to  very  narrow  limits ;  namely, 
have  they  ceased '!" 

"  I  say  they  have."  replied  Sefton ;  "  and  so  I  imagine  do 
most  rational  people." 

" Remember."  said  Father  Oswald,  "that  God  distinguished 
his  chosen  people  by  an  uninterrupted  series  of  miracles  from 
the  beginning  unto  the  very  end  of  the  synagogue.  In  our  Sa- 
viour's time  we  read,  that  at  stated  periods  the  angel  descended 
and  moved  the  waters  of  the  Probatic  pond  ;*  now,  can  we  for 
a  moment  imagine,  that  Christ  has  left  the  Church,  his  beloved 
spouse,  without  this  precious  mark  of  his  predilection  1  Has  he 
not  expressly  promised  it  1 — '  Amen,  amen,  I  say  unto  you,  He 
that  believeth  in  me,  the  works  that  I  do,  he  also  shall  do,  and 
greater  than  these  shall  he  do.'  "t 

*  John  v.  4  T  John  xiv.  13 


192  FATHER  OSWALD. 

'  Your  reasoning,  Sir,"  said  Sefton,  "  is  very  plausible  and 
specious,  but  of  no  avail  against  the  notorious  fact,  that  since 
the  days  of  the  Apostles  no  well-authenticated  miracle  has  ever 
laken  place." 

"  Really,"  replied  Father  Oswald,  "it  requires  an  extraordi- 
nary degree  of  scepticism  to  call  in  doubt  the  words  of  eccle- 
siastical history  which  bear  the  most  irrefragable  evidence  to  an 
uninterrupted  succession  of  miracles  in  every  age :  weigh  well 
the  promises  of  Christ ;  he  prefixes  his  most  solemn  assevera- 
tion, no  ways  limited  to  time,  place,  or  person,  that  miracles 
shall  be  wrought  in  his  Church  alone ;  faith  only  is  requisite. 
'  Amen,  I  say  unto  you,  if  you  have  faith  as  a  grain  of  mustard 
seed,  you  shall  say  to  this  mountain,  remove  from  hence  hither, 
and  it  shall  remove,  and  nothing  shall  be  impossible  to  you."* 
Now,  in  his  Church,  true  faith  shall  always  be  tbund ;  shall  we 
then  be  told  that  miracles  have  ceased  1  Well,  then,  I  say  the 
promises  of  Christ  have  failed,  and  you  give  a  fair  pretext  for 
iniidels  to  reject  the  Bible  altogether." 

Sefton  blushed ;  "  But,"  persisted  he,  "  as  we  see  no  miracles 
in  these  enlightened  ages,  therefore  they  must  have  ceased." 

"  There  are  none  so  blind  as  those  who  will  not  see,"  replied 
Father  Oswald ;  "  real  miracles  have  never  ceased  in  the  Church 
of  Christ,  and  it  is  one  of  the  most  convincing  proofs  of  the 
truth  of  the  Catholic  religion." 

"  No  doubt  it  would  be  so  if  they  did  exist,"  replied  Sefton 
very  seriously,  "  but  there  is  the  point." 

At  this  moment  some  one  knocked  at  the  door.  Father  Os- 
wald called  out,  "  Come  in,"  and  a  tall  young  man, -about  thirty, 
in  a  clerical  dress,  with  a  fine  Roman  lace,  and  mild  and  sensi- 
ble countenance,  entered ;  he  said  a  few  words  to  Father  Os- 
wald, who  shortly  after  introduced  him  to  Sefton,  as  Monsig- 
nore  Guidi.  After  the  usual  complimen.ts  of  politeness,  Edward 
rose,  and  took  his  leave,  fearful  of  intruding  by  a  longer  visit, 
as  he  perceived  they  had  business  together. 

*  Matt.  xvii.  HJ. 


FATHER  OSWALD. 


CHAPTER   XXV. 

•*  As  when  on  the  ivory  tablet  we  view 

The  features  of  father  or  friend, 

The  bosom  heaves  high,  and,  like  evening  dew, 

Soft  tears  on  the  tablet  descend. 
"  Even  so  when  thy  Cross,  O  Saviour  !  I  see. 

And  thy  head  thus  drooping  with  pain, 

The  sijih  of  my  heart  shall  whisper  to  Thee, 

Thou  shall  not  thus  love  me  in  vain  ! 
"  Oft  shall  my  tears,  as  in  silence  they  steal 

>'n  thy  wounds  thus  bleeding  for  me, 

The  sisjh  the  resolve,  at  rny  heart  reveal 

To  cling,  aye,  for  ever  to  Thee  ' 
"  We  call  Thee  Father,  but  thou  art  far  more, 

Far  dearer  than  father  or  friend  ; 

oil !  teach  th^n  '  thy  child'  to  love  and  adore 

Thee,  Father,  Redeemer,  arid  End." — CATHOLIC  HYMN. 

THE  following  day,  Monsignore  Guidi  called  upon  Sefton,  and 
on  a  further  acquaintance  they  were  mutually  pleased  with 
each  other.  Monsignore  Guidi  was  an  ecclesiastic  equally  dis- 
tinguished by  his  rank  and  talents ;  he  united  to  great  sensibili- 
ty of  heart  and  mildness  of  manner,  a  cultivated  understanding, 
and  a  profound  erudition.  He  very  kindly  offered  his  services 
to  Sefton  in  his  literary,  antiquarian,  or  ecclesiastical  researches. 
The  offer  was  gratefully  accepted,  and  they  examined  together 
most  of  the  antiquities  and  objects  of  interest  in  Rome.  One 
morning,  as  Sefton  was  seated  at  breakfast,  Monsignore  Guidi 
was  announced:  "  I  have  come,"  said  he,  "to  ask  if  you  have 
yet  seen  the  Pope  V 

"  No,"  replied  Sefton,  "  I  have  not.  I  suppose  it  is  considered 
necessary,  or  I  would  as  soon  be  excused." 

"  You  perfectly  astonish  me !" 

"How  so  V  inquired  Sefton;  "are  you  not  aware,  that  all 
good  Protestants  are  taught  to  believe  that  the  Pope  is  the  mos> 
deplorable  of  self-deceivers,  a  weak  instrument  of  the  Devil, 
and  the  most  profane  and  audacious  charlatan  V 

The  Prelate  held  up  his  hands  in  amazement. 

"Don't  be  alarmed,  my  dear  Guidi,"  said  Sefton,  "but  the 
truth  of  it  is,  that  to  all  Bible  Christians,  the  Church  of  Rome 
appears  a  system  of  the  grossest  worldliness,  supported  by  splen- 
dour, and  governed  by  earthly  means." 

"  I  know  not  what  you  exactly  mean  by  Bible  Christians," 
said  Monsignore  Guidi;  "but  if  that  is  the  view  they  take  of 
the  Catholic  religion,  I  am  sure  should  they  look  at  the  moon 
17* 


194  FATHER  OSWALD. 

through  a  pair  of  green  spectacles,  they  would  swear  it  was 
made  of  green  cheese.  I  would  not  be  so  unpo!i;e  as  to  turn 
the  tables,  (though  perhaps  it  might  not  be  very  ditiicuh.)  upon 
the  splendour,  luxury,  and  iniquity  of  most  of  the  royal  heads  of 
the  Church  of  England  and  Kirk  of  Scotland ;  but  I  imagine  from 
what  you  have  just  said,  you  do  not  wish  to  see  his  Holiness." 

Sefton  looked  a  little  foolish.  "  I  did  not  exactly  say  that," 
replied  Sefion,  "  travellers  are  accustomed  to  see  many  wonder- 
ful things." 

"  Well,  then,"  said  Monsignore  Guidi,  "there  will  be  this  af- 
ternoon the  first  vespers  of  '  All  Saints,'  in  the  chapel  of  the 
Pope's  palace.  This  chape.,  which  is  called  the  Sixtine,  is 
adorned  by  Michael  Angelo's  finest  paintings.  His  Holiness 
will  himself  assist  at  the  vespers,  and  thus  you  will  have  an  op- 
poi  (unity  of  seeing  him." 

"  I  am  much  obliged  to  yon,  I  am  sure,"  said  Sefton,  :[  and 
shall  be  most  happy  to  accompany  you ;  but  do  tell  me  what 
you  mean  by  'All  Saints,'  for  to  me" the  worship  of  the  Saints 
and  their  intercession  seems  riot  only  deplorable  ignorance  but 
downright  idolatry." 

"  Methinks  Catholics  have  great  reason  to  be  obliged  to  Pro- 
testants for  the  good  opinion  they  have  of  their  piety  and  judg- 
ment," said  Monsignore  Guidi  a  little  sarcastically.  "  I  can  as- 
sure you  we  are  neither  so  stupid,  nor  so  ignorant,  as  to  idolize 
the  Saints :  we  pay  them  not  the  worship  which  is  due  to  God 
alone ;  we  honour  then:  only  as  the  special  friends  cf  their 
Creator,  who  are  already  admitted  to  the  Heaven  which  we  hope 
one  day  to  attain;  in  the  meanwhile,  we  believe  with  a  firm 
faith  that  they  are  riot  now  less  charitable  than  they  were  when 
living  in  this  world,  that  they  interest  themselves  for  us  and  pray 
to  God  for  us.  For  otherwise,  we  cannot  imagine  that  the  rich 
man  buried  in  Hell  should  evince  solicitude  for  the  salvation  of 
his  brethren,*  or  the  Saints  in  Heaven  should  evince  anxiety 
for  the  salvation  of  their  lellow-combatants,  still  on  earth.  It 
is  on  the  day  called  '  All  Saints'  that  we  honour  them  alto- 
gether, and  recommend  ourselves  and  all  the  world  to  their 
prayers." 

'•  But  do  you  really  imagine,"  said  Sefton,  "  that  you  have  any 
rational  ground  for  believing  that  such  honour  p::id  to  created 
beings  is  pleasing  to  God?  Can  you  show  any  Scriptural  au- 
thority for  such  a  practice  1" 

"  Nothing  can  be  more  rational  or  more  Scriptural."  replied 
Monsignore  Guidi,  "  than  that  we  should  pray  for  one  another 
here  on  earth.  Does  not  St.  Paul  in  all  his  epistles  desire  the 
*  Luke  xvi.  27. 


FATHER  OSWALD  195 

prayers  of  the  faithful  for  himself!  Have  you  never  reflected  on 
these  his  words,  '  I  desire  therefore  first  of  all  that  supplications, 
prayers,  intercessions,  and  thanksgivings  be  made  for  all  men, 
for  this  is  good  and  acceptable  in  the  sight  of  God  our  Saviour  T* 
and  does  not  St.  James  also  say,  '  Pray  one  for  another,  that  you 
may  be  saved,  for  the  continual  prayer  of  a  just  man  availelh. 
much'  T't 

"Wei!,  but  we  suppose  the  Apostles  to  have  been  men  really 
inspired  and  guided  by  God,"  said  Sefton. 

"Certainly  they  were,"  replied  Guidi,  "  and  yet  you  see  they 
ask  for  the  prayers  of  the  faithful;  now  surely  the  prayers  and 
intercession  of  His  blessed  Saints  in  Heaven  are  not  less  good 
and  acceptable  in  His  divine  presence,  and  surely  they  must 
avail  more  than  the  prayers  of  souls  on  earth,  not  yet  made 
perfect." 

"  Sefton  remained  silent  for  some  time,  as  one  in  deep  reflec- 
tion ;  at  length  he  said,  "  Indeed,  Monsignore,  your  reasoning 
appears  very  specious ;  I  know  not  exactly  how  to  answer  it : 
for  if  the  prayers  of  poor  sinful  mortals,  when  offered  up  for 
other  men,  '  are  good  and  acceptable  to  God,'  we  cannot  doubt 
that '  the  spirits  of  the  just  made  peri'ect  may  intercede  for  us 
with  still  greater  efficacy ;  yet  it  is  strange  we  have  no  direct 
evidence  of  it  in  Holy  Scripture." 

"  I  am  glad,"  replied  Monsignore  Guidi,  "that  you  acknow- 
ledge the  practice  of  invoking  the  intercession  of  the  Saints  to 
be  at  least  rational.  Still  you  seek  for  Scriptural  evidence,  and 
we  are  not  without  that ;  yet  you  must  allow  me  to  protest 
against  your  mistaken  principle,  that  every  thing  practically 
|3ious  and  holy  is  to  be  found  in  the  Scriptures.  If  the  thing  in 
question  be  rational  and  pious  in  itself,  it  behoveth  you  to  show 
that  it  is  forbidden  by  Scripture  before  you  condemn  it  in  your 
neighbour." 

"  Well,  well,"  answered  Sefton,  "  you  may  perhaps  be  right 
in  that  also,  but  let  me  hear  your  Scriptural  evidence  for  the 
intercession  of  Saints." 

"  We  read  in  the  book  of  Maccabees,  that  Onias,  who  had 
been  the  high  priest,  and  had  been  martyred,  appeared  to  Judas 
Maccabaeus,  and  '  holding  up  his  hands,  prayed  for  all  the  peo- 
ple of  the  Jews :'  after  this,  there  appeared  alsc  another  man, 
admirable  for  age  and  glory,  and  environed  with  great  beauty 
and  majesty.  Then  Onias  answering,  said,  'This  is  a  lover  of 
las  brethren  and  of  the  people,  and  tor  all  the  holy  city,  Jere- 
miah the  Prophet  of  God.'  "J 

"  That  passage,  no  doubt,  would  be  decisive  of  the  question," 
*  1  Tim.  u.  1  t  Jas.  v.  it  ;  2  Mac.  xv.  11— H 


196  FATHER  U8WAI.I) 

answered  Seftort,  "  if  it  were  really  canonical  Scripture:  DU» 
you  know,  Mcnsignore,  that  we  consider  the  Maccabees  a» 
apocryphal." 

"  A  very  ready  way  of  getting  over  a  difficulty  !  Luther  de- 
nied the  authenticity  of  the  epistle  of  St.  James,  and  pro- 
nounced it  unworthy  of  an  apostle,  because,  forsooth,  it  repro- 
bates his  system  of  salvation,  by  faith  alon?,  without  good 
works." 

"But  you  are  aware,"  continued  Sefton,  "that  the  Jews  do 
not  admit  the  authenticity  of  these  books." 

''•  We  look  not  to  the  Jews  for  the  authenticity  of  our  Scrip- 
lures,"  said  Monsignore  G-uidi,  "  otherwise  we  must  reject  the 
whole  New  Testament :  we  look  to  the  authority  of  the  Church 
to  decide  what  is,  and  what  is  not,  the  revealed  Word  of  God ; 
and  from  the  earliest  ages,  the  Church  has  regarded  the  books 
of  Maccabees  as  divinely  inspired;  St.  Augustine  teaches  us 
this  fact,  but  the  ancient  Jews  did  not  reject  these  books." 

"  How  soT'  said  Sefton  with  some  surprise. 

"Perhaps,"  replied  the  Prelate,  "  you  are  not  aware  that  the 
canon  of  the  Jewish  Scriptures  was  fixed  by  Esdras,  and  that 
the  books  of  Maccabees  wen:  written  three  hundred  years  later, 
and  therefore  could  not  be  inserted  in  his  canon.  The  Jews 
waited  for  another  Esdras,  or  prophet,  to  pronounce  on  the  au- 
thenticity of  those  books.  The  Christian  Church,  in  her  gene- 
ral councils,  has  pronounced  the  sentence  as  she  has  upon  the 
books  of  the  New  Testament;  if  you  reject  that  authority, 
I  know  not  upon  what  ground  you  can  admit  the  New  Testa- 
ment." 

"  I  will  not  enter  at  present  into  that  question,"  replied  Sef- 
ton, "for  I  fear  I  should  be  involved  in  difficulties  inextricable.  • 
But  you  must  allow,  Sir,  thar  the  legends  of  many  of  your  Saints 
are  silly,  disgusting,  and  blasphemous." 

"You  use  strong  language.  Sir,  and  1  can  only  attribute  it  to 
the  ignorance  of  Catholic  doctrines  and  writings  in  which  Pro- 
lestants  are  educated.  But  that  which  appears  silly  before  the 
wise  of  this  world,  may  be  wisdom  before  God.  I  have  read 
the  histories  oi  many  of  our  Saints,  but  I  never  found  anything 
blasphemous  in  them.  That  their  poverty,  humility,  fastings, 
and  mortifications,  may  be  disgusting  to  sensual  men,  I  will  not 
deny ;  but  to  the  truly  pious,  and  on  the  lovers  of  the  Cross, 
they  produce  a  very  different  effect. 

"  What !"  exclaimed  Sefton,  "  would  you  have  me  believe 
all  the  absuri  stories  related  of  your  saints  T' 

"  By  no  means ;  I  only  wish  you  to  examine,  without  preju- 
dice the  evidence  on  which  these  stories  are  grounded :  if  thai 


FATHER  OSWALD.  197 

evidence  does  not  satisfy  your  judgment,  you  are  then  at  lull 
liberty  to  reject  them;  we  pretend  to  no  higher  authority  lor 
(hem.  than  what  is  due  to  well-authenticated  historical  facts." 

"  I  thought,"  said  Sefton,  "  that  all  Catholics  were  bound  to 
believe  them,  under  pain  of  excommunication  for  heresy." 

"  Another  instance,"  observed  Monsignore  Guidi,  "  of  the 
gross  misconceptions  which  most  Protestants  entertain  of  the 
Catholic  faiih.  The  acts  of  the  saints,  like  all  other  historical 
facts,  rest  entirely  on  human  testimony,  and,  consequently,  can 
never  become  the  objects  of  divine  faith,  for  they  claim  no  fur- 
ther credit  than  is  warranted  by  the  weight  of  the  evidence  in 
their  favour.1' 

':  Are  you  then  allowed  to  examine  them  critically  1"  asked 
Sefton. 

"  No  doubt  we  are  ;  and  I  need  only  refer  you  to  the  great 
work  of  the  Bollandists,  where  you  will  find  a  most  laborious 
collection  of  monuments  and  documents  regarding  the  lives  of 
all  the  saints,  accompanied  with  the  most  acute  criticism  and 
unbiassed  judgment  in  determining  the  certain  from  the  dubious; 
truth  from  falsehood." 

i:  I  had  no  notion  of  that,"  said  Sefton  ;  "still  I  must  say  it 
would  be  no  easy  task  to  remove  my  doubts." 

"  It  is  the  genuine  spirit  of  Protestants  to  doubt  of  every  thing 
but  the  visions  of  their  own  brains,"  said  the  Prelate,  sighing. 
"  You  cannot  think  how  such  assertions  surprise  Catholics;  for, 
from  my  poor  experience,  I  find  there  is  no  historical  fact,  how- 
ever well  authenticated,  if  it  tends  to  throw  a  lustre  on  the 
Catholic  religion,  which  they  will  not  boldly  deny  or  egregious- 
ly  misrepresent,  as  there  is  no  story,  true  or  false,  reflecting  on 
the  character  of  the  Catholic  Priest,  that  they  do  not  credulously 
devour." 

"You  are  very  severe,  Monsignore,"  said  Sefton,  smiling; 
"but  there  is  one  point  of  your  doctrine  of  which  I  am  not  yet 
convinced.  Though  I  may  grant  that  the  saints  in  heaven  feel 
an  interest  in  our  welfare,  and  may  pray  for  us ;  yet  I  dc  not 
see  how  we  can  invoke  them,  without  attributing  to  them  a  sort 
of  ubiquity,  which  no  doubt  is  blasphemous." 

"  There  is  surely  no  more  blasphemy  in  believing  .hat '  the 
spirits  of  the  just  made  perfect  in  the  company  of  many  thou- 
sands of  angels'*  can  communicate  with  their  votaries  on  earth, 
than  that '  there  shall  be  joy  be.'ore  the  angels  of  God,  upon  one 
sinner  doing  penance. 't  Catholics  are  neither  taught,  nor  be- 
lieve, that  any  saint  or  angel  is  endowed  with  the  divine  attri- 
bute of  ubiquity ;  but  they  know,  though  Bible  readers  may  not 
*  Heb.  xii  W.  t  I.uke  xv.  10. 


198  fATHER  OSWALD. 

that  the  rich  man  in  Hell  could  hold  a  conversation  with  Ahra 
ham,  when  he  was  «./«?•  off,  and  Lazarus  in  his  bosom,  although 
'  there  was  fixed  between  them  «  great  chaos.'*  Therefore,  there 
is  no  need  that  the  saints  should  move  from  the  place  of  their 
repose,  in  order  to  know  the  prayers  of  their  votaries  on  earth 
Oh  !  if  Protestants  knew  the  heartfelt  consolation  of  having  sc 
many  heavenly  friends  and  intercessors,  they  would  rather  envy 
than  revile  and  despise  us." 

"  Perhaps,"  said  Sefton,  "you  will  next  justify  your  adoration 
of  the  statues  of  saints;  that  at  least  is  rank  idolatry." 

"  I  will  not  justify  such  a  charge,"  exclaimed  Monsignore 
Guidi  earnestly,  "  but  I  will  deny  it:  the  essential  part  of  idol- 
atrous worship,  the  abomination  so  much  detested  and  repro- 
bated in  Holy  Scripture,  consisted  in  offering  sacrifices  to  idols, 
or,  as  the  Apostle  expresses  it,  to  devils.  Now,  surely,  you  will 
not  accuse  Catholics  of  such  infatuation  1  Has  the  Gospel  ot 
Christ  been  preached  to  them  for  eighteen  hundred  years  to  no 
better  effect"?  The  person  who  can  seriously  think  idolatry  pos- 
sible amongst  Christians,  must  have  a  mean  idea  of  the  effi- 
cacy of  the  Gospel." 

"  From  what  I  have  heard,  and  from  what  I  have  myself 
seen,"  replied  Sefton,  "  I  certainly  cannot  but  think  that,  at  all 
events,  the  common  people  are  guilty  of  idolatry;  perhaps  not 
you,  Monsignore,  nor  really  well-instructed  Catholics  either ; 
but,  depend  upon  it,  it  is  very  prevalent  amongst  the  lower 
classes." 

"  My  dear  Mr.  Sefton.  I  must  again  positively  contradict  you," 
said  the  Prelate.  "It  is  difficult  for  me  to  imagine  how  you 
can  have  been  so  completely  misinformed  upon  this  subject ;  but  I 
do  assure  you  that  the  greatest  veneration,  adoration,  or  worship, 
that  any  Catholic  ever  paid  to  the  image  of  a  saint,  never  came 
up  to  the  veneration  and  awe  which  the  Israelites.,  by  the  com- 
mand of  God,  paid  to  the  Ark  of  the  Covenant,  the  workman- 
ship of  man's  hand.  I  could  show  you  a  hundred  texts  to  prove 
this ;  but  you  may  recollect  with  what  precaution,  and  sacrifices, 
and  ceremonies,  the  High  Priest  was  to  approach  it  once  a  year, 
and  '  he  coriPmanded  him,  saying,  that  he  enter  not  at  all  into 
the  sanctuary  which  is  within  the  veil  before  the  propitiatory 
with  which  the  Ark  is  covered,  lest  he  aie ;  for  I  will  appear  as 
a  cloud  over  the  oracle  unless  he  first  do  these  things.'t  Re- 
member, too,  what  reverence  Josue  taught  the  people  to  pay  to 
the  Ark :  '  And  let  there  be  between  you  and  the  Ark  the  space 
of  two  thousand  cubits,  that  you  may  see  it  afar  ofT  ....  and 
lake  care  you  come  not  near  the  Ark.Ivt 

*  Luke  xvi.  26  t  Lev.  xvi.  2.  f  Jo*,  iii.  4 


FATHER  OSWALD.  199 

"  There  is  a  shadow  of  reason  in  what  you  say,  Sir,"  replied 
Sefton  ;  "  but  that  was  in  the  Old  Law." 

"  The  Old  Law  was  not  destroyed,  but  fulfilled,"  said  the 
Prelate;  "  and  what  was  commanded  then,  cannot  be  unlawful 
now;  what  was  pious  then,  cannot  be  impious  now:  however, 
there  is  something  approaching  nearer  to  worship  or  adoration 
of  the  likeness  of  something  in  Heaven  or  on  earth  in  this  ex- 
ample: '  And  Josue  rent  his  garments,  and  fell  flat  on  thegrouni 
before  the  Ark  of  the  Lord  until  the  evening,  both  he  and  ai\ 
the  ancients  of-  Israel,  and  they  put  dust  upon  their  heads.'* 
Again,  the  chastisements  of  the  Philistines,  and  the  fate  of  Oza 
lor  irreverence  shown  to  the  Ark  of  the  Lord,  and  the  pomp  and 
jubilee  with  which  David  carried  it  in  procession,  are  striking 
instances  of  respect  shown  even  to  inanimate  created  objects. 
While  the  princes  and  anointed  of  the  people  gave  this  example 
of  Veneration  and  respect  to  a  wooden  box,  and  to  the  graven 
and  golden  cherubim  on  its  lid,  with  what  awe  and  terror  must 
the  vulgar  have  been  stricken,  particularly  when  they  saw  that 
worship  sanctioned  by  God  with  the  most  evident  miracles!" 

"  But,"  said  Sefton  earnestly,  "  I  have  always  understood  that 
the  Catholic  Church  suppresses  one  of  the  commandments 
altogether,  and  divides  another  into  two,  to  blind  the  people,  and 
support  image-worship." 

'•  How  you  must  have  been  misinformed,"  said  Monsignore 
Guidi ;  "  The  Catholic  Church  suppresses  nothing  of  the  Ten 
Commandments:  she  divides  them — lor  in  the  Bible  there  is 
no  division  of  first,  second,  third,  and  so  forth — as  the  Fathers 
in  the  earliest  ages  divided  them.'t  Every  thing  that  regards 
the  worship  of  God,  and  the  prohibition  of  idolatry,  are  com- 
prehended in  one  and  the  first  commandment,  because  they 
regard  one  and  the  same  object.  It  would  be  an  easy  matter 
for  a  finical  Bible  reader  10  make  three  commandments  out  ol 
the  first.  1st.  Thou  shalt  not  have  strange  gods  before  me. 
2nd.  Thou  shalt  not  make  lo  thyself  a  graven  thing.  3rd.  Thou 
shalt  not  adore  them.  Now,  if  it  be  forbidden  la  make  '  the 
likeness  of  any  thing  that  is  in  Heaven  above,  or  the  Earth  be- 
neath,' how  many  precious  monuments  of  the  fine  ails  must 
be  destroyed  !  how  many  portly  figures  and  darling  miniatures 
must  be  cast  into  the  Hames !" 

11 1  am  sure,"  persisted  Sefton,  "  I  always  had  the  impression, 
that  the  use  of  paintings,  sculpture,  and  images  in  churches, 
was  contrary  to  Scripture,  and  that  it  was  positively  forbidden 
there." 

*  Jos.  vii.  6. 

t  See  LUigaid's  Catccnetical  Instructions,  p.  59,  ct  ir.Jra 


200  FATHER  OSWALD. 

"Yet  it  was  by  the  command  of  God  that  two  images  of  che. 
rubim  were  made  and  placed  on  the  Ark,"*  said  the  Prelate; 
"  and  did  not  the  Israelites  venerate  the  brazen  serpent  as  a 
type,  or  figure  of  Christ T't  Catholics  venerate  the  images  of 
Christ,  ol  the  Blessed  Virgin,  and  of  the  saints,  on  account  of 
'.heir  prototypes.  None  of  them  are  so  stupid  as  to  believe 
Uiat  any  divinity,  any  power  or  virtue,  resides  in  any  of  these 
image?/' 

"  I  wish  I  could  persuade  myself  of  that,"  said  Sefion:  "  lor 
(hough,  as  I  observed  before,  the  learned  and  educated  may 
maKc  that  distinction,  yet  I  feel  sure  the  poor  ignorant  Catholics 
are  incapable  of  it;  and  I  cannot  but  fear  they  really  adore  the 
images  as  much  as  the  Pagans  did  their  idols." 

'•Pardon  me,"  replied  Monsignore  Guidi ;  "the  poor  Cath- 
olics are  better  instructed  in  their  Catechism  than  you  imagine, 
and  certainly  know  much  more  of  the  nature  and  unity  of  God, 
than  the  gross-minded  Israelites,  who  adored  the  golden  calve*k 
as  the  gods  which  had  brought  them  out  of  Egypt.  You  hav«. 
no  doubt,  traversed  the  splendid  galleries  of  the  Vatican,  filled 
with  exquisite  and  countless  statues'?" 

"  To  be  sure  :  what  of  that  7" 

"  You  may  have  observed  the  poor  ignorant  Catholics  wrap* 
in  the  contemplation  of  those  precious  monuments  of  art]" 

"  Yes:  what  then  V 

"  Did  you  ever  see  any  of  them  fall  down  and  adore  them  V 

"  No,  certainly ;  but  remove  them  into  your  churches,  and 
they  would  soon  be  crowded  with  votaries." 

"  Our  churches  are  adorned  with  innumerable  statues,  as  in 
the  monuments  of  the  Popes,  and  other  gr-atmen  ;  didyoueve» 
see  votaries  bending  before  them'!" 

"  I  certainly  never  did,"  replied  Sefton  doggedly. 

"  Then  the  poor  ignorant  Catholic  knows  how  to  distinguish 
between  an  image  and  its  prototype.  But,  my  dear  Sir,  reason 
a  little  more  consistently.  I  am  told  that,  at  the  Reformation, 
when  you  pulled  down  the  images  of  the  crucified  Redeemer 
and  his  holy  Mother,  you  erected  in  their  stead  the  royal  arms, 
Ihe  lion  and  the  unicorn  ;  nay,  that  St.  Paul's  and  Westminster 
Abbey  are  crowded  at  this  day  with  statues  of  all  the  Heathen 
divinities:  now,  is  not  all  this  a  greater  violation  of  the  lirst 
commandment,  than  the  Catholic  images  ever  were?" 

"But  we  do  not  make  them  the  objects  of  any  religious  vene- 
•ation  or  worship,"  said  Sel'lon  somewhat  haughtily. 

"  1  do  not  charge  you:''  replied  the  Prelate,  "  with  such  gross 
idolatry ;  still,  1  think  a  fitter  place  might  be  found  for  them 
*  rixod.  xxv  t  Numb.  xxi. 


FATHER  OSWALD.  201 

.ban  the  house  01"  the  living  God.  You  will  not  find  such  un- 
seemly objects  in  a  Catholic  temple." 

"  They  are  only  used  as  allegorical  representations  of  the 
prowess,  renown  and  virtues  of  departed  worthies." 

"It  may  be  so;  but  we  also  employ  allegorical  represen- 
tations, and  yet  contrive  to  keep  out  of  our  churches  all  Pagan 
deities." 

" Still,"  urged  Sefton,  "you  pay  adoration  to  the  statues  oi 
vour  saints,  if  you  do  not  to  your  allegorical  statues." 

"  There  is  a  great  difference  betwixt  the  two,"  answered 
Monsignore  Guidi.  "  Suppose  I  were  to  cast  upon  the  ground 
the  image  of  the  crucified  Redeemer  and  bid  you  trample  on  it, 
would  you  do  it  V 

'•  No,  certainly." 

"Why  not  7    It  is  nothing  but  an  image. ' 

"  Because  I  have  too  much  respect  lor  my  Redeemer,  to  oiler 
Him  an  insult  even  in  his  image." 

"  Your  sentiment  is  Catholic ;  we  only  carry  our  respect  a 
little  further:  far  from  trampling  on  it,  we  raise  it  with  vene- 
ration, press  it  to  our  hearts,  kiss  it  with  our  lips,  and  contem- 
plating in  the  image  what  the  prototype  suffered  for  us,  bathe  it 
with  our  tears." 

Sefion  was  silent. 

"  It  is  a  beautiful  day,"  said  Monsignore  Guidi ;  "  do  you  lee 
inclined  to  drive  as  far  as  the  tomb  of  Cecelia  Metalla,  on  the 
Via  Appia,  and  study  the  antiquities  in  that  quarter  1" 

"  I  should  like  nothing  better,"  said  Sefton,  and  off  they  set 
Edward  was  delighted  with  all  he  saw;  the  balmy  softness  of 
the  air,  the  calm  repose  of  the  Campagnia,  and  the  view:;  ot 
Tivoli  and  Frascati,  on  their  undulating  and  olive-covered  hills, 
heightened  the  sense  of  pleasure  with  \vhich  they  wandered 
over  Roma  Vecchia,  and  visited  the  sepulchres  of  die  ancient 
Romans  and  heroes  of  antiquity. 


16 


FATHER  OSWALD. 


CHAPTER    XXVI. 

That  no  lambkin  might  wander  in  crroi  benighted, 

But  homeward  the  true  path  may  hold, 
The  Redeemer  ordained  that  in  one  faith  united, 

One  Shepherd  should  govern  the  fold. —  FRAGMENT. 

AT  the  appointed  hour,  the  two  friends  found  themselves  as 
rending  tire  magnificent  staircase  of  the  Vatican  to  attend  the 
vespers.  Edward  could  not  help  feeling  a  deep  interest  in  the 
scene  around  him — the  venerable  assemblage  of  Cardinals — the 
throng  of  religious  and  secular  Clergy — the  unrivalled  music 
—the  benign  and  dignified  presence  of  the  Sovereign  Pontiff. 
and  the  crowds  of  strangers  from  all  parts  of  the  world,  assem- 
bled to  gaze  and  to  admire,  struck  him  almost  with  reverential 
awe.  As  the  vespers  went  on,  he  felt  a  desire  to  know  what 
kind  of  a  devotion  it  might  be  to  which  he  was  listening,  and 
asked  Monsignore  Guidi,  in  a  whisper,  what  was  meant  by 
vespers.  The  Prelate  gave  him  a  book,  from  which  he  found 
that  vespers  consist  of  five  psalms,  taken  from  the  Book  ot 
Psalms,  diiFeringaccordingtothedirTerent  festivals ;  these  psalms 
are  followed  by  a  little  chapter  and  a  hymn,  after  which  is 
chanted  to  music,  the  Magnificat,  or  Song  of  the  Blessed  Virgin 
Mary,*  the  whole  terminating  with  some  short  commemorations 
and  prayers.  Edward  was  surprised  to  find  by  this  book,  that 
the  vespers  were  translated  into  the  vernacular,  so  that  those  not 
understanding  Latin  could  nevertheless  follow,  and  perfectly 
enter  into  the  spirit  of  the  service.  He  left  the  chapel,  much, 
impressed  with  what  he  had  heard  and  seen,  excepting  that  he 
\vas  both  mortified  and  ashamed  by  the  misconduct  of  many  of 
nis  own  countrymen,  who  seemed  to  consider  themselves  in  a 
theatre  rather  than  in  the  house  of  God.  He  attempted  an  awk- 
ward apology  to  Monsignore  Guidi,  by  observing  that  they  must 
have  been  some  ill-bred  churls,  who  had  the  bad  taste  to  scofFat 
what  they  did  not  understand,  or  who  wanted  the  commcn  sense 
to  stay  away,  if  they  could  not  assist  with  decency  and  respect 
in  the  presence  at  least  of  a  temporal  sovereign. 

"  It  has  been  often  observed,"  said  Monsignore  Guidi  some- 
what sarcastically,  "  that  you  English  show  more  respect  to  the 
mosques  of  Constantinople  or  to  the  temple  of  Juggernaut,  than 
to  the  Christian  temples  of  Rome." 

Sefton  smarted  a  little  at  this  reflection,  but.  without  making 
any  observation  asked  Monsignore  Guidi  to  call  and  take  him 

*  Luke  i.  46. 


FATHKK  OSWALD  2fl.'J 

the  following  morning  to  the;  High  Mass,  \vnicn  was  10  be  cele- 
brated in  the  same  chapel.  At  the  appointed  time  they  arrived 
a'  the  Sistine  Chapel,  where,  bel'ore  the  service  commenced,  they 
had  leisure  to  admire  the  beauty  uf  Michael  Angelo's  immortal 
paintings.  If  Sei'ton  had  been  struck  with  the  soothing  piety  of 
the  vespers  the  evening  before,  he  was  still  more  impressed  by 
1  he  solemnity  of  the  High  Mass,  which  he  now  witnessed.  It 
was  with  a  kind  of  scruple  that  he  expressed  a  wish  to  attend  it, 
for  he  had.ang  believed  that  the  Mass  was  the  very  quintessence 
of  Catholic  idolatry,  and  it  was  only  in  consequence  of  a  clear 
explanation  from  Monsignore  Guidi  of  the  Catholic  faith  on 
the  real  presence  of  Jesus  Christ  Himself,  God  and  Man,  in  the 
Sacrament,  that  this  difficulty  was  surmounted.  "  If  such  be 
the  belie!' of  Catholics,"  he  thought  within  himself,  "  the  adora- 
tion which  they  pay  to  the  host,  cannot  be  idolatrous.  They  may 
be  mistaken  ;  still  they  adore  not  a  bit  of  bread.  Their  adora- 
tion is  given  to  Jesus  Christ.  God  and  Man  who  they  feel  persuad- 
ed, is  there  really  present  under  the  form  and  appearance  of  bread. 
But  then,  how  can  our  clergy  swear  that  such  a  practice  is  idola- 
trous and  blasphemous  7  I  cannot  comprehend  it;  there  must  be 
something  rotten  in  all  this."  He  listened  very  attentively  to 
the  Mass  as  it  proceeded ;  he  was  touched  with  the  plaintive 
notes  of  the  '  Kyrie  eleison,"  and  the  rapturous*  burst  of  praise 
and  adoration  in  the  '  Gloria  in  excelsis  Deo  !'  When  this  was 
followed  by  the  'Epistle.'  'Gradual,'  and  'Gospel,'  taken  word 
for  word  from  the  Bible  itself,  including  Old  and  New  Testa- 
ments, he  could  not  conceal  his  surprise,  and  whispered  to  his 
friend,  "I  had  not  the  mast  distant  idea  of  this!  Little  did  1 
think  to  hear  the  eight  beatitudes  recited  in  the  very  middle  o!'  a 
Popish  Mass;"  and  then  he  thought  in  his  own  mir.d  tha>  per- 
haps Emma  might  not  be  quite  so  wrong  as  be  had  imagined. 
Hi«  attention  was  now  called  to  the  beautiful  music  of  the 
'  Nieene  Creed.'  He  fbimd  the  words  of  it  exactly  the  same  as 
those  repeated  every  Sunday  in  the  Protestant  church,  and  he 
wondered  he  had  never  before  remarked  that  he  had  all  his  life 
been  repeating  'his  belief  in  the  '  One,  Holy,  Catholic,  and 
Apostolic  Church;'  '  El  Unam,  Smct.am.  Cnlhollcam,  et  Apos- 
lolicam  Ecclrsinm .-"  surely,  thought  he,  there  must  have  been 
sonic  strange  inconsistency  or  mistake  amongst  the  first  re  <>r- 
mers,  to  let  so  glaring  a  profession  of  Catholicity  remain  in  the 
Protestant  ritual ;  a  id  he  determined  within  himself  to  remon- 
strate with  the  Bishop  of  S on  that  subject,  at  the  earliest 

opportunity.  After  the  '  Credo'  follows  the  solemn  offering  of  the 
bread  and  wine;  the  incense  of  the  sacrifice;  the  '  Lava  bo,' 
and  other  prayers,  succeeded  by  the  glorious  burst  of  adoration 


204  •  FATHER  OSWALD. 

chanted  in  the  '  Preface.'  The  officiating  priest  then  proceeded 
in  secret  with  the  solemn  canon  of  the  Mass,  during  which  he 
commemorated  the  Church  militant  and  the  Church  triumphant, 
preparatory  to  the  awful  consecration  of  the  bread  and  wine  ; 
by  which  these  elements  are  transubstantiated  into  the  body 
and  blood  of  the  Lord  Jesus  Christ.  Immediately  after  the  con- 
secraiion  the  priest  raises  the  host  and  the  chalice  for  the  adora- 
tion of  the  people:  and  all  kneel,  and  adore  in  profound  silence 
their  Lord  and  God  really  present  amongst  them.  Sefton  did  not 
kneel ;  lie  stood  quite  upright,  though  he  felt  in  his  heart  a  pang 
of  regret  that  he  could  not  join  in  the  impressive  and  touching 
devotion  of  all  around  him.  He  could  not,  because  he  did  not 
yet  believe  in  the  real  presence  of  his  .Saviour ;  still  he  remained 
convinced  that  those  who  did  believe  in  that  mystery,  however 
they  migh>  mistake,  could  not  be  condemned  for  idolatry.  He 
even  felt  he  wished  he  could  believe,  for  how  sublime  would 
then  be  the  worship  of  the  Mass  !  how  worthy  of  the  Divinity  ! 
how  far  superior  to  any  worship  offered  by  Pagans,  Jews,  or 
Protestants!  The  Mass  proceeded  in  silence,  and  by  referring 
to  the  Missal  he  had  in  his  hand,  he  found  that  after  the  cele* 
brant  had  offered  this  awful  sacrifice  to  the  Divinity,  he  prayed 
for  the  dead,  and  again  commemorated  the  saints  in  Heaven. 
He  then  chantet]  the  '  Lord's  Prayer'  aloud,  succeeded  by  the 
'Agnus  Dei,'  and  (  Domine,  non  sum  dignus,'  previous  to  con- 
summating the  sacrifice,  by  receiving  in  communion  the  body 
and  blood  of  his  Saviour,  which  he  had  a  little  before  conse- 
crated; the  communion  being  followed  by  prayers  of  thanks- 
giving and  the  blessing,  the  Mass  terminated  with  the  begin- 
ning of  the  Gospel  of  St.  John.  The  Sovereign  Pontiff  retired; 
when  the  assistants  and  tongregation  dispersed,  descending  in 
crowds  the  splendid  stairs  of  the  Vatican.  Sefton  was  silent  for 
some  time  ;  at  length  Monsignore  Guidi  asked  him  if  he  had 
been  pleased  with  what  he  had  witnessed. 

"I  have  been  extremely  surprised,"  answered  Sefton;  "1 
find  that  the  Mass  is  so  very  different  from  what  I  had  thought  it. 
Are  all  Masses  the  same  as  thisl" 

"Yes;  excepting  that  the  prayers,  lessons,  and  gospels  art 
different,  according  to  the  different  festivals." 

"To  those  who  believe  in  the  real  presence  of  Jesus  Christ, 
it  must  be  a  most  awful  and  most  consoling  act  of  worship,"  ob- 
served Sefton. 

"  Doubtless  it  is  so,"  replied  the  Prelate. 

"Still,"  said  Sefton,  "  I  have  always  believed  that  the  Mass 
is  at  best  but  a  human  institution,  unknown  in  the  first  ages  of 
the  Church." 


FATHER  OSWALD.  005 

|:  The  first  Mass,"  said  Monsignore  Guidi,  "  was  celebrated 
by  our  Lord  Jesus  Christ  himself  when  He  instituted  the  Enrh.i- 
riit,  and  offered  Himself  a  sacrifice  for  the  sins  of  mankind  . 
does  He  not  say,  'This  is  My  body  which  is  given  for  you"? 
which  words  clearly  indicate  a  present  offeiing  of  his  bods',  a 
present  shedding  of  his  blood ;  '  This  is  My  blood  which  is  shed 
for  you'  ?  and  in  obedience  to  his  command, — '  Do  ye  this  in  re- 
membrance of  Me,' — the  Apostles  offered  the  holy  sacrifice  in 
every  region  of  the  earth  to  which  they  were  sent ;  and  from 
the  rising  to  the  setting  sun  the  clean  'oblation  has  been  ever 
offered,  as  the  Prophet  Malachy  had  foretold.  Nay,  the  altar- 
stone  upon  which  St.  Peter  celebrated  still  exists  in  the  church 
of  St.  Prudentiana  here  in  Rome;  and  from  the  time  of  Si. 
Peter  down  to  the  present  Pope,  Mass  has  always  been  celebra- 
ted in  the  Catholic  Church,  and  ever  will  continue  to  be  so  to 
the  end  of  the  world." 

"  But,  my  dear  Monsignore.  yon  must  be  aware  that  the  Pro- 
testants deny  that.  St.  Peter  was  ever  Bishop  of  Rome,  or  thai 
the  Saviour  instituted  any  primacy  of  jurisdiction  in  him." 

"  That  is  living  from  one  point  to  another,"  said  Monsignore 
Guidi,  '-as  I  find  Protestants  continually  do  ;  but  a  bold  denial 
is  not  sufficient  to  bring  conviction.  That  St.  Peter  was  the 
Irst  Bishop  of  Rome  and  ended  his  days  there,  are  historical 
facts,  better  authenticated  than  that  Julius  Caesar  was  slain  in 
the  senate-house.  That  Christ  conferred  on  St.  Peter  a  primacy 
of  jurisdiction  over  the  other  Apostles  and  consequently  over 
the  whole  Church,  is  as  clear  in  the  Scripture  as  words  can 
make  them." 

"  How  so  1" 

"  Because  to  St.  Peter  alone  our  Blessed  Saviour  said,  '  Than 
art  Peter,  (a  rock),  and  upon  this  rock  I  will  build  my  Church.'* 
To  St.  Peter  alone  our  Blessed  Saviour  said,  '  I  will  give  lot  Ace 
the  keys  of  the  Kingdom  of  Heaven  ;'  to  Peter  alone  our  Bless- 
ed Saviour  said,  '  I  have  prayed  for  Ihcc,  that  thy  faith  fail  not, 
and  thou  being  once  converted,  confirm  thy  brethren  ;';t  to  Pe- 
ter alone  he  committed  the  care  of  his  whole  flock,  '  Feed  my 
lambs,,  feed  my  sheep. 'j  Now  this  primacy  of  jurisdiction 
which  was  given  to  St.  Peter,  we  acknowledge  in  the  succe.s 
N.TS  of  St.  Peter,  the  Bishops  of  Rome,  down  to  the  present  day 
In  every  age  of  the  Church,  the  successor  of  St.  Peter  in  the 
See  of  Rome  has  been  ever  acknowledged  as  the  supreme  head 
of  the  Church  of  Christ.  In  the  nature  of  things,  a  centre  of 
unity — a  centre  of  faith  and  charity,  is  absolutely  necessary. 
This  very  necessity  is  itself  a  sufficient  reason  to  believe  thai 
*  Matt.xvi  18.  +  Luke  xxii  32.  i  Jolmxxi.  15. 

18* 


SJ06  FATHER  OSWAU). 

Christ  has  provided  his  Church  with  such  centre  of  union. 
Did  he  not  pray  lor  this  union  of  his  followers  1  '  Holy  Father, 
keep  them  in  Thy  name  whom  Thou  hast  given  Me,  that  they 
may  be  one,  as  We  also  are.'*  We  search  in  vain  lor  such  a 
centre  out  of  the  See  of  Rome ;  no  other  See  ever  pretended  tc 
this  prerogative,  and  this  prerogative  has  been  conceded  lo  the 
Chair  of  Peter  by  every  other  See  of  the  Christian  world." 

"  We  nowhere  read,"  said  Sefton,  "  that  Peter  ever  exercised 
this  primacy." 

"  Although  there  were  no  record  that  he  ever  exercised  it, 
that  would  be  no  proof  that  he  never  did  exercise  it.  Having 
shown  that  this  high  commission  was  given  by  Christ  unto  Pe- 
ter, it  is  natural  to  suppose  that  he  would  be  called  upon  occa- 
sionally to  exert  it.  In  fact,  there  is  in  Scripture  sufficient  evi- 
dence that  he  did  so." 

"  Pray,  Sir,  on  what  occasion?'' 

"  First,  immediately  after  the  Ascension,  when  the  Apostles 
and  Disciples  were  assembled  together,  Peter  proposes  the  elec- 
tion of  a  successor  to  Judas  in  the  Apostleship,  and  evidently 
presides  and  directs  the  whole  proceedings."t 

"  So,  so,"  replied  Sefton,  laughing;  "I  see  you  would  make 
Peter  play  the  Pope  at  a  very  early  hour,  in  appointing  a  Bishop, 
a  successor  to  an  Apostle." 

"  I  only  mention  the  fact,  and  leave  the  inference  to  your  own 
good  sense,"  said  the  Prelate.  "  But  to  proceed.  When  '  no 
small  contest'  was  raised  among  the  Christians  of  Antioch, 
wheiher  they  were  bound  to  observe  the  Mosaic  law,  'the  Apos- 
tles and  Ancients  assembled  to  consider  of  this  matter ;  and 
when  there  had  been  much,  disputing,'  Peter  arose  and  pronounced 
;i  definitive  sentence.  He  had  no'sooner  spoken,  when  '  all  the 
multitude  held  their  peace.'  "+ 

"  I  must  allow,"  said  Sefton,  "  that  looks  very  much  like  an 
authoritative  decision  of  the  Papal  See." 

"  Nothing  less,  I  assure  you.  Peter  speaks,  and  the  cause  is 
decided :  every  opposing  voice  is  hushed  ;  all  submit,  and  trie 
contest  is  ended.  It  is  worthy  also  of  your  serious  reflection, 
that  neither  Paul  nor  Barnabas,  though  both  Apostles,  could  oi 
themselves  decide  the  controversy  of  Antioch,  but  were  obliged 
to  repair  to  Jerusalem,  where  Peter  was,  to  have  the  matter 
settled.  This  tact  indicates  clearly  that  Peter  exercised  a  su- 
premacy over  the  Apostles  and  over  the  whole  Church." 

Selton  was  sensibly  moved  and  briefly  answered :  "  I  fee! 
the  full  force  of  your  remark,  and  I  do  not  exactly  see  how  it  is 
to  be  answered." 

*  John  xvii.  11.  t  Acts  i.  15.  t  Acts  xv. 


FATHER  OSWALD.  20"" 

"St.  Paul,"  continued  the  Prelate,  ';did  not  begin  11  is  a  pas 
lolic  labours  before  he  had  visited  Peter,  for  he  tells  us,  '  After 
three  years  I  went  to  Jerusalem  to  see  Peter,  and  I  tarried  with 
him  fifteen  days.'*  The  object  of  his  visit,  it  can  hardly  be 
doubted,  was  to  confer  with  him  upon  the  Gospel  which  he  had 
to  preach  among  the  Gentiles.t  Thus  we  see  that  St.  Paul, 
though  called  by  God  himself  to  the  Apostleship,  did  not  pre- 
sume to  enter  into  his  mission  without  the  approbation  of  Peter. 
Moreover,  we  find  Peter  pronouncing  on  the  writings  of  St. 
Paul  as  one  having  authority:  '  As  also  our  most  dear  brother 
Paul,  according  to  the  wisdom  given  him,  hath  written  to  you  ; 
as  also  in  all  his  Epistles,  ....  in  which  are  certain  things  hard 
to  be  understood,  which  the  unlearned  and  unstable  wrest,  as 
they  do  the  other  scriptures,  to  their  own  destruction  ;'j — as  if 
the  Apostle  had  in  view  the  presumptuous  abuse  of  modern 
Bible  readers." 

"  I  grant,"  said  Sefton,  "  there  is  a  good  deal  of  force  in  your 
argument,  on  the  supposition  that  Christ  really  conferred  a  pri- 
macy on  Peter." 

"  That  supposition  rests  on  the  most  explicit  words  of  Christ 
himself,  as  I  have  already  proved,"  replied  Monsignore  Guidi. 

"  But  how  can  it  be  proved  that  the  present  Popes  of  Rome 
are  the  successors  of  St.  Peter  1"  asked  Sefton. 

"Their  names  are  all  upon  record;  and  any  person  versed 
in  the  history  of  the  Church  and  the  writings  of  the  holy  Fath- 
ers, will  candidly  confess  that  a  primacy  of  jurisdiction  has 
always  been  acknowledged  in  the  Bishops  of  Rome:  I  refer 
you  to  St.  Irenseus.  St.  Cyprian,  St.  Basil,  in  the  second,  third, 
and  fourth  ages,  and  to  a  host  of  others.  The  written  Word  is 
very  plain  on  this  subject,  'There  shall  be  one  fold  and  one 
shepherd.'  "§ 

"  But,  Monsignore,"  said  Sefton,  "  is  it  not  both  presumptuous 
and  ambitious  in  the  Popes  to  allow  themselves  to  be  styled,  and 
to  take  the  title  of,  Vicai  of  Christ  on  earth  T 

"  I  cannot  see  it  in  that  light,"  answered  Monsignore  Guidi 
quietly.  "  A  Vicar  is  one  who  holds  the  place  of  another,  and 
is  subordinate  to  him;  such  is  the  Pope  with  respect  to  Jesus 
Christ.  Our  Blessed  Redeemer,  under  the  amiable  figure  of  the 
good  shepherd,  says,  'Other  sheep  I  have, -who  are  not  of  this 
fold;'  that  is,  the  Gentiles,  to  whom  Christ  never  preached; 
1  them  also  I  must  bring,  and  they  shall  hear  my  voice,  and  there 
shall  be  one  fold  and  one  shepherd.'  It  is  evident  that  Christ 
has  but  one  fold,  collected  together  from  all  nations,  of  which 
He  is  the  one  supreme  shepherd;  that  is  the  one  Church,  ol 
which  He  is  the  one  supreme  head." 

•  Gal.  i.  18  +  Gal  ii.  2  12  Peter  iii.  15.  4  John  x.  18 


208  FATHER  OSWALD. 

"  But  what  has  that  to  do  with  my  objection  1"  said  Sefton. 

"Becau.se,"  continued  the  Prelate,  "  when  o;ir  Saviour  was 
about  to  leave  tins  earth,  he  would  not  leave  his  one  flock  with- 
out a  visible  head.  For  this  office  he  selected  Peter,  to  whom 
he  had  already  promised  the  '  keys  of  the  Kingdom  of  Heaven  ;' 
'.hat  is,  the  supreme  jurisdiction  and  government  of  his  Church, 
and  now  he  fulfils  his  promise.  '  When,  therefore,  they  had 
dined,  Jesus  saith  to  Simon  Peter:  Simon,  son  of  John,  lovest 
ihou  me  more  than  these  1  He  saith  to  him,  Feed  my  lambs. 
He  saith  to  him  again,  Simon,  son  of  John,  lovest  thou  me  7 
.  He  saith  to  him,  Yes,  Lord;  thou  knowest  that  I  love  thee. 
He  saiih  to  him,  Feed  my  lambs.  He  saith  to  him  the  third 
time,  Simon,  son  of  John,  lovest  thou  me?  Peter  was  grieved, 
because  he  had  said  to  him  the  third  time,  Lovest  thou  me  ]  And 
he  saith  to  him,  Lord,  thou  knowest  all  things:  thou  knowest 
that  I  love  thee.  He  said  to  him,  Feed  my  sheep.'*  Here 
Christ,  in  the  most  formal  and  explicit  manner,  gives  to  Peter, 
the  predecessor  of  the  Popes,  the  care  of  his  whole  flock",  great 
as  well  as  little,  sheep  as  well  as  lambs,  all  the  Pastors  who  feed 
the  flock,  as  well  as  the  flock  itself;  and  this  vicegerent  author- 
ity has  passed  to  all  the  successors  of  Peter,  and  fully  entitles 
them  to  the  venerable  appellation  of  Vicar  of  Christ  on  earth." 

"  In  that  sense,"  replied  Sefton.  "  each  Bishop  in  his  diocese 
may  be  considered  the  Vicar  of  Christ." 

11  In  a  limited  sense,  with  respect  to  their  immediate  subjects 
and  subordination  to  their  head,  the  Pope,  the  expression  may  be 
admitted,  as  all  the  Apostles  were  truly  '  the  ambassadors  of 
Christ ;'  but  still  there  is  need  of  one  supreme  head,  without 
which  there  could  be  no  centre  of  unity — no  bond  of  peace  to 
keep  the  Church  united  in  the  'nnefati/i;'  to  gather  the  sheep 
and  lambs  into  the  'one  f'lld.'  Nothing  can  show  the  necessity 
of  this  union  more  than  the  innumerable  dissensions  into  which 
every  sect  that  has  broken  loose  from  the  Ibid  of  Peter,  has  mis- 
erably split.  I  appeal  to  the  history,  past  and  present,  of  youi 
o\vn  Church." 

li  1  cannot  deny,"  answered  Sefton  with  some  hesitation  and 
a  blush  of  conscious  weakness.  "  but  that  our  Church  has  been 
too  much  harrassed  by  turbulent  innovators,  and  that  we  have 
no  etficacious  means  of  suppressing  them." 

':  Such  being  the  necessity  of  the  case,"  replied  Monsignore 
Guicli,  "  as  your  own  experience  proves,  you  must  allow  that 
Christ,  as  a  wise  legislator,  has  provided  a  remedy  for  the  evil. 
You  have  sought  for  it  in  vain  during  three  hundred  years.  We 
show  it  in  the  supremacy  of  Peter,  as  the  Catholic  Church  has 
enjoyed  it  for  eighteen  centuries." 

*     Jcl.n  xxi  15,    16.  17 


FATHER  OSWALD.  209 

"  That  bond  of  union,"  said  Sefton,  "  is  not  so  strong  as  not 
lo  have  been  frequently  snapped  asunder." 

"  It  is.  however,  sufficiently  strong,"  replied  Monsignore 
Guidi,  '•  to  hold  those  who  have  the  good-will  to  be  directed  by 
the  ordinance  of  eternal  wisdom.  God  constrains  no  man  ;  and 
if  man  chooses  to  swerve  from  the  way  appointed  by  Christ,  Ms 
own  perdition  must  fall  on  his  own  head." 

"Aye,  there  again,"  exclaimed  Sefton.  "your  odious  illiberality 
bursts  forth.  Catholics  certainly  are  the  most  intolerant  people 
on  the  face  of  the  earth  :  they  never  will  allow  salvation  to  be 
found  in  any  Church  but  their  own." 

"  Truth,  my  dear  Sir,"  said  the  Prelate,  "  is  ever  intolerant  of 
falsehood.  Possessed  of  the  truth,  we  must  necessarily  repro- 
bate error ;  but  we  know  how  to  pity  the  erring,  and  the  first 
effect  of  our  compassion  is  to  admonish  them  charitably  of  their 
danger.  We  tell  them  that  we  cannot  be  more  lenient  than 
Christ  himself.  Now,  who  said,  '  He  that  believeth  not  shall 
oe  condemned  T*  was  it  not  the  Saviour  himself?" 

"  I  believe  it  was,"  muttered  Sefton. 

"  Yes ;  and  the  Catholic  Church  teaches  that  Jesus  established 
but  one  Church  lor  the  salvation  of  man,  and  that  out  of  that 
one  Church  salvation  is  not  to  be  had;  reason  tells  us  that  Christ, 
'  the  way,  the  truth,  and  the  life,'  could  never  be  the  author  ot 
two  contradictory  systems  of  faith,  and  the  Apostle  expressly 
declares  that  there  is  but  'one  Lord,  one  faith,  one  baptism. 'i 
Invincible  ignorance,  indeed,  may  save  a  soul,  but  how  many 
Protestants  are  there  who  know  far  too  much  to  lay  claim  to 
that  privilege;  and  Oh !  my  dear  Sefton,"  added  he  earnestly, 
"  think  of  those  most  emphatic  words  of  the  Redeemer  himself, 
'and  other  sheep  I  have  that  are  not  of  this  fold;  them  also  I 
must  bring,  and  they  shall  keu r  my  voice,  and  there  shall  be  one 
fold  and  om  shepherd.'  " 

Sefton  sighed. 

"  From  this,"  continued  Monsignore  Guidi,  "it  appears  there 
are  m?ny  sheep  straying  widely  from  the  fold,  which  He  earn- 
est!}' wishes  to  bring  back.  You,  my  clear  Sir,  have  seen  and 
heard  enough  to  make  you  doubt  lest  you  be  one  of  these  stray 
ed  sheep.  Oh !  listen  to  his  voice,  and  harden  not  your  heart 
but  retnrn  to  that  fold  over  which  Christ  has  placed  the  one  shep 
herd  his  Vicar  on  earth." 

Sefton  appeared  agitated,  but  he  endeavoured  to  conceal  hii 
emotions.  By  this  time  they  had  arrived  at  the  hotel,  and  tin 
friends  separated,  having  engaged  to  meet  the  Ibllowing  mrrn- 
ing  at  the  same  hour. 

*  Mark  xvi.  16.  t  Ephe's.  iv.  5. 


2lO  FATHER  OSWALD. 


CHAPTER  XXVII. 

"  I  am  thy  father's  spirit, 
Doomed  for  a  certain  time  to  walk  tho  night, 
And  for  thp  day  confined  to  fast  in  fire, 
Till  the  foul  crimes,  done  in  rny  days  of  nature, 
Are  burnt  and  purged  away." — SHAKSPEAUE. 

EVERY  one,  who  has  been  in  Rome  during  the  first  week  o! 
November,  must  have  been  struck  with  the  pensive  melancholy, 
and  the  lugubrious  tone  of  the  church  service  during  that  time; 
— the  slow  and  solemn  tolling  of  the  bells — the  monotonous  ch;;nt 
of  the  office  ibr  the  dead — the  sombre  hue  of  the  church  orna- 
ments and  hangings — and,  above  all,  the  innumerable  Masses 
celebrated  in  black  vestments,  as  expiatory  sacrifices  for  those 
relations,  and  friends,  and  fellow-creatures,  who  have  gone 
beibre  us  to  be  judged  at  the  awful  tribunal  of  the  living  God. 
Who,  with  a  heart  alive  to  the  tender  affections  and  sympathies 
of  humanity,  has  not  been  struck  with  this!  In  every  street,  a! 
every  church  door,  the  poor  and  the  children  remind  us  to  pray 
for  the  friends  we  have  lost ;  and  who  were,  perhaps,  but  a  lew 
fleeting  months  ago,  all  the  world  to  us.  Those  beloved  ones ! 
to  our  partial  and  doating  eyes  they  seemed,  perhaps,  as  near 
perfection  as  human  nature  is  capable  of;  but  who  shall  encoun 
ter  the  glance  of  the  living  God  and  not  be  found  covered  with 
blemishes  1  If  even  the  very  Seraphim  tremble  in  His  sight, 
shall  not  the  just  man,  'who  tails  seven  times,'  tremble  also! 
Great  God  !  how  few  there  are,  who  rush  from  Thy  tribunal  to 
Thy  bosom.  Other  friends,  two,  we  may,  perchance,  have  lost, 
who,  though  dear  to  us  as  our  heart's  core,  yet  we  knew  were 
careless  livers  and  full  of  frailties.  We  cannot  think  a  just 
and  merciful  God  will  condemn  them  to  everlasting  torments, 
for  frailties  so  much  counterbalanced  by  their  redeeming  faith, 
and  many  virtues.  No!  no!  they  are  but  suffering,  and  suffer- 
ing for  a  time,  and  it  is  in  our  power  to  help  them,  if  we  will ; 
perhaps,  even,  it  depends  on  us  to  be  the  means  of  placing  them 
in  eternal  repose  at  anv  moment.  Can  we  have  the  heart  to 
shut  our  ears  to  their  entreaties  for  help  in  their  utmost  need  1 
certainly  not:  and  what  tongue  can  tell  their  joy,  their  peace, 
Iheir  repose,  when,  by  our  prayers,  we  have  moved  God  to  re- 
.ease  them  from  their  excruciating  torments!  what  tongue  can 
tell  their  gratitude  to  us  for  this  last  and  tender  act  of  ch  rity  ! 
'But  stay;  there  are  some  people  who  will  not  perform  this  act 
of  charity;  and  why  1  Perhaps  they  have  lost  no  friends:  it 


FATHER  OSWALD.  211 

musl  be  so.  Oh !  no.  that  is  not  the  reason  of  their  negligence ; 
they  hare  lost,  alas!  too  many.  Some  of  them,  perhaps,  in 
early  youth,  while  yet  in  invincible  ignorance,  like  some  tender 
snow-drop  buried  under  deep,  freezing  snow;  others,  wavering 
in  thei:  faith,  sincerely,  yet  feebly,  resolving  to  embrace  the 
truth,  if  found ;  whom  God,  in  His  inscrutable  ways,  snatched 
from  amongst  the  living  ere  they  brought  their  good  resolutions 
to  bear  fruit;  and  these  dear  lost  ones  were  most  tenderly  be- 
loved, and  the  relations  they  have  left  in  this  earthly  vale  have 
tender  and  most  compassionate  hearts  ;  but  they  say  '  there  is  nr 
Purgatory  ;'  and  thus  they  leave  their  poor  friends  suffering  and 
lingering  in  the  reality  of  its  torments,  while  they  excuse  them- 
selves from  succouring  them  by  a  bold  assertion  that  Purgatory 
is  a  vile  Popish  superstition  ;  and  they  eat,  and  drink,  and  enjoy 
themselves,  while  those,  that  were  nearest  and  dearest  to  them, 
are  agonizing  in  their  utmost  need.  So  much  for  Protestant 
charity  and  liberality!  Oh!  would  to  God  they  could  be  in- 
duced calmly  to  investigate,  whether  their  assertion,  is  not  more 
chimerical  than  the  existence  of  a  Purgatory. 

Sefton  attended  the  High  Mass  celebrate'd  for  the  repose  ol 
the  souls  of  the  faithful  departed  in  the  Sistine  Chapel,  and  the 
mournful  and  pathetic  sUains  ot  the 'Dies  iras,  dies  ilia',  sur- 
passed even  his  already  excited  anticipation.  The  Pope's  choir, 
which  consists  of  the  finest  voices,  who  sing  without  the  aid  of 
instrumental  music,  is  peculiarly  calculated  for  the  execution  of 
music  of  a  solemn  and  plaintive  description.  There  is  a  wild 
and  melancholy  cadence,  produced  by  this  union  of  human  voices 
in  perlect  harmony,  which  cannot,  perhaps,  be  imitated  by  any 
other  combination  of  sounds  in  nature,  but  which  fully  and  sur- 
passingly expresses  the  deepest  and  most  agonizing  feelings  of 
the  soul.  During  this  unrivalled  execution  of  the  simple  and 
sublime  '  Dies  iroe,'  Sefton  was  ri vetted,  and,  as  it  were,  enchanted 
in  attention,  and  the  whole  of  the  prayers  and  lessons  which  he 
heard,  and  which  have  all  reference  to  the  suffering  state  of 
our  lellow-creatures  who  have  already  entered  eternity,  struck 
him  as  peculiarly  beautifu1  and  appropriate;  and  he  thought 
within  himself,  that  had  he  believed  in  a  middle  state  of  seals, 
they  would  have  been  consoling  too.  While  descending  the 
staircase  of  the  Vatican,  after  the  service  was  finished,  Sefton 

was  agreeably  surprised  to  meet  his  friend,  the  Bishop  of  S , 

and  family.  A  warm  meeting  ensued;  but  as  Sefton  had  en- 
gaged to  go  with  Monsignore  Guidi  to  visit  some  of  the  princi- 
pal sculptors  in  Rome,  he  made  the  Bishop  and  his  family 
promise  to  come  and  dine  with  him  in  the  afternoon.  Monsig 
uore  Guidi  agreed  to  join  the  party,  though  he  was  somewhat 


ria  FATHER  OSWALD. 

startled  at  Mrs.  Boren  being  introduced  as  the  Bishop's  wile- 
but  a  moment's  reflection  recalled  to  his  mind,  that  the  good 
Bi?V>p  had,  in  reality,  as  groundless  a  title  to  holy  orders  as  ady 
young  seminary  student,  who  had  merely  taken  the  tonsure,  still 
retaining  the  liberty  of  choosing  a  wife  instead  of  a  breviary  as 
Ms  companion  for  life,  if  so  the  fancy  took  him.  At  six  o'clock, 
(hey  all  met  at  Serny's  Hotel.  Befor0  'hey  sat  down  to  Table,  to 
Edward's  unspeakable  vexation  and  »..ime,  for  he  coloured 
Deeply,  Monsignore  Guidi  said  grace,  and  made  the  sign  of  the 
Cross.  The  Bishop  stared,  the  Captain  and  Lavinia  exchanga? 
"lances,  and  Mrs.  Boren  looked  things  unutterable.  The  Pre- 
late, quite  unconscious  that  he  had  done  any  thingextraordinary, 
uietly  eat  his  soup.  After  dinner,  while  coflce  was  being 
served,  the  Bishop  turned  to  Monsignore  Guidi,  and  said,  "  I 
understand  Sir,  there  was  some  extremely  fine  music  this  morn- 
\tg  at  the  Vatican.  I  was.  unfortunately,  too  late  for  it.'" 

li  Yes,  it  was  very  fine  indeed,"  replied  Monsignore  Guidi, 
'and  well  worth  the  attention  of  a  traveller.1' 

"  What  was  it  particularly  1"  said  Miss  Lavinia. 

'  It  was  the  '  Dies  iron,'  "  said  Sefton,  "  one  of  the  most  beau- 
lifnl  pieces  of  music  I  ever  heard." 

"You  will  have  an  opportunity,  my  Lord,  of  hearing  it  to- 
morrow, though  perhaps  not  so  fine  as  it  was  to-day,"  said  the 
Prelate ;  "  to-morrow,  Mass  is  celebrated  for  the  souls  of  the 
deceased  Popes." 

"  The  souls  of  the  Popes  !  how  very  ridiculous  !"  exclaimed 
the  Captain 

"  What  a  queer  idea  !'    tittered  Lavinia. 

"  A  very  cruel  one,  I  think,"  drawled  out  Mrs.  Boren.  "I 
think  the  Catholic  religion,  instead  of  lessening  sorrow,  aggra- 
vates it,  by  sending  its  T.embers  to  Purgatory.  The  poor  old 
Popes  !  I  wonder  how  long  they  are  left  to  fry  there." 

Miss  Lavinia  giggled  out  aloivl. 

"  I  suppose,  Ma'am,  yon  think,"  said  Monsisrriore  Guidi  sig- 
nificantly, "  the  doctrine  hnld  by  many/nodern  Protestants, — that 
me  torments  of  hell  are  'tint,  eternal. — a  much  more  consoling 
and  comfortable  dogma-  No  doubt  it  is  for  hardened  sinners, 
to  whom  it  is  thus  no  longer  '  a  fearful  thing  to  fall  into  the 
nands  of  the  living  God.'  "* 

"  1  never  mentioned,  nor  thought  of  such  a  frightful,  disa- 
greeable place,  I  am  sure,  Sir,"  said  Mrs.  Boren,  with  a  look  of 
horror ;  "  but  God  is  very  good,  and  who  knows  how  it  may  be  7" 

"  Yes,"  continued  Monsignore  Guidi,  "Protestants  began  by  de- 
nying Purgatory,  and  man}'  of  them  have  ended  by  changing 
•  Ileb.  x.  31 


FATHER  OSWALD.  5213 

rtell  iri«o  Purgatory,  or  noplace  of  punishment  atall.  This,  no 
doubt,  is  well  calculated  to  assuage  sorrow  and  dissipate  all  the 
sn.perstitious  horrors  ot'  a  future  state,  and  therefore  must  be  a 
more  perfect  form  of  Protestantism  than  that  which  still  keeps 
its  votaries  in  the  horrid  dread  of  eternal  flames.  It  may  not, 
to  be  sure,  be  quite  so  conformable  to  the  letter  of  -Holy  Scrip- 
ture, but  then  it  is  more  rational;  in  the  meantime,  I  have 
doubts  whether  'the  God  of  revenge'  will  approve  of  this  doc- 
trine." 

"  You  are  pleased  to  be  severe,  Sir,"  said  the  Bishop,  pom- 
pously. "  Now  I  simply  state  it  as  my  conviction,  that  Purga- 
lory  is  contrary  to  Scripture,  and  was  never  heard  of  in  the 
Christian  Church  till  it  became  full  of  corruptions." 

"  Then,"  answered  Monsignore  Guidi, :'  how  can  you  account 
for  me  fact  that  all  the  Fathers  of  the  four  or  five  first  ages, 
when  the  supposed  abominations  of  Popery  had  not  yet  made 
much  progress  in  th,e  Church,  concur  in  the  doctrine  of  a  middle 
state  V 

"  Is  that  really  true,  Sir  1"  said  Sefton  eagerly. 

"  In  all  the  earliest  Liturgies,  prayers  are  offered  for  the  dead," 
answered  Monsignore  Guidi,  "and  this  practice  of  the  primitive 
Church  proves  its  faith." 

"  My  dear  Sei'ton,"  interposed  the  Bishop,  "  I  do  assure  you 
Purgatory  is  a  most  pernicious  error,  and,  moreover,  contrary 
to  Scripture:  because  as  Christ's  death  was  an  all-sufficient 
atonement  for  sin,  to  make  man  sutler  also  for  that  sin,  is  either 
a  contradiction,  or  an  assertion  that  more  suffering  is  inflicted 

an  is  necessary." 

Sefton  looked  puzzled. 

"  The  atonement  of  Christ,"  said  the  Prelate,  "  is  all-sufficient 
for  the  sins  of  the  whole  world;  yet  man  is  still  condemned  to 
suffer  for  his  sins.  What  are  poverty,  toil,  labour,  sickness  and 
death,  but  the  punishments  of  God  inflicted  on  sin?  If  no  suffer- 
ings be  necessary  on  the  part  of  sinful  man,  after  the  all-sulH- 
cient  atonement  of  Christ,  why  are  not  all  the  miseries  of  life 
and  death  itself  abolished  1  That  is  a  question  I  should  like  to 
!>-?ar  you  solve  on  your  own  principles.  For  my  part,  I  say, 
happy  the  man  who  can  discharge  the  debt  of  punishment  due 
to  his  sins,  by  these  temporary  inflictions  ;  for  such  a  hap[  ysoul 
there  is  no  Purgatory." 

"  The  strongest  argument  a  Catholic  can  bring  in  favour  of 
Purgatory,"  said  the  Bishop,  waving  his  hand,  "is  from  the 
books  of  the  Maa.abees;  but  our  Reformation  rejects  these." 

"  I  am  perfectly  aware  that  your  Reformation  rejects  the 
Maccabees,"  anvwered  Monsignore  Guidi ;  "  but  you  will  permit 
ll 


9.  I  FATHER  OSWALD. 

me  to  observe,  that  this  rejection  made  by  modern  reicrmtrs 
oau  bear  no  weight  when  made  in  opposition  to  all  antiquity,  in 
opposition  to  the  universal  Church,  the  only  one  extant  at  the 
:tiuie  of  the  pretended  Reformation,  excepting  the  Greek  schis- 
ittiatics,  who  believed  and  still  believe  in  Purgatory.  Your  LorJ- 
sh.'p  must  also  permit  me  to  deny  that  the  Catholic  draws  his 
-strongest  argument  in  favour  of  Purgatory  from  the  books  oi 
;thc  Maccabees  :  Lotus  even  suppose  them  to  bear  no  weight, 
sliil  the  belief  of  a  middle  stale  is  supported  by  many  other  tei:U 
/of  the  Old  and  New  Testament." 

"  How  so,  Sir— how  so  V  said  the  Bishop  impatiently. 

"  Is  it  not  written,"  replied  Monsignore  Guidi,  1;  '  Thou  also, 
:by  (iie  blood  of  thy  Testament,  hast  sent  forth  thy  prisoners  out 
of  Ihe  pit  wherein  is  no  water  •'*  Now  lhat  pit  cannot  be  Hell, 
as  out  of  Hell  there  is  no  redemption.  Consequently,  it  must 
:be  a  place  of  temporal  punishment,  Irom  which  redemption  is 
had  by  the  blood  of  the  Testament." 

"  Pretty  strong,"  cried  the  Captain;  i:  that's  the  pit  for  me, 
'then  ;  tor  if  I  remember  rightly  what  was  thumped  into  my 
•head  at  school,  they  used  to  tell  me  that  from  the  other  pit  there 
•is  no  redemption." 

"Silence,  y«ung  m::n.''  said  his  father, frowning. 

"  But,"  continued  the  Prelate.  :' what  St.  Paul  says  is  yet 
«trouger:  'Every  man's  work  -shall  be  made  manifest;  for  the 
day  oi  the  Lord«hall  dccbire.it,  because  it  shall  be  revealed  by 
fire  ;  and  the  fire  shall  try  every  man's  work  of  what  sort  it  is. 
If  any  man's  work  abide,  which  he  has  built  thereupon,  he  shall 
receive  a  reward.  If  any  miin's  work  burn,  he  shall  suffer  loss ; 
but  he  himself  shall  be  saved,  yet  so  as  by  lire. 't  Now  this 
text  hcirdly  requires  any  comment :  from  it,  it  plainly  appears 
that,  although  the  works  of  man  have  been  substantially  good 
and  pleasing  to  Almighty  God,  yet,  on  account  of  many  defor- 
mities, the  effects  of  human  frailty  and  corruption,  man  must  be 
cleansed  by  a  purging  and  punishing,  yet  saving  tire,  before  he 
.can  be  admitted  into  that  sanctuary  into  which  'nothing  defiled 
can  enter.'  "; 

"  Well  and  good."  said  the  Bishop;  "if  such  is  your  faith. 
'be  satisfied,  but  excuse  me  from  entering;  farther  into  the  sub- 
ject. Controversy,  in  my  opinion,  is  extremely  disagreeable  in 
•society,  especially  when  one  wishes  to  enjoy  a  social  evening. 
•Come,  Sefton,"  continued  he,  "cannot  you  furnish  us  with  a 
•pack  of  cards,  that  Mrs.  Boren  and  I  may  have  our  usual  game ''" 

Sefton  rung  for  the  cards,  but  he  was  by  no  means  either 
pleased  or  satisfied  at  the  Bishop's  having  beat  a  retreat  in  that 
*  Zacll.  ix.  11.  t  1  Cor.  lii.  13, 14  15.  t  Apoc.  xxi.  2? 


FATHER  -.       .  ALD.  215 

«»y<e.  Monsignore  Guidi's  observation,  thai  the  practice  of  the 
Church  in  its  primitive  ages,  of  praying  lor  the  dead,  proved  its 
faith  in  Purgatory,  even  in  the  very  earliest  period  of  Christian- 
ity, had  struck  him  forcibly,  and  he  would  willingly  have  dived 
more  deep  into  the  subject  had  not  his  fear  of  annoying  the 

Bishop  of  S prevented  him.  Alter  the  party  had  broken 

up.  he  sat  musing  over  the  expiring  embers  of  the  fire,  until  he 
had  made  up  his  mind  to  call  the  next  day  on  Father  Oswald,  to 
near  all  that  could  be  stated  on  the  subject;  for,  thought  he,  if 
she  Catholics  of  the  present  day  coincide  with  the  first  Christians 
sc  exactly  on  this  point,  they  may  do  so  in  others  also ;  it  is 
certainly  very  singular.  "  I  cannot  well  see,"  said  he.  ''•  what 
induced  the  first  relbrmers  to  object  to  Purgatory,  and  I  think  it 
is  but  justice  to  both  parties  to  have  my  mind  satisfied  on  this 
subject.  I  shall,  moreover,  ask  at  the  same  time,  the  grounds 
Catholics  pretend  to  have  for  that  odious  custom  of  making  the 
sign  of  the  Cross,  especially  at  meal  times.  I  prefer  asking 
him  to  asking  Guidi,  because  Guidi  misrht  think  it  personal." 
The  next  day  Sefton  accordingly  called  on  Father  Oswald,  and, 
after  a  little  conversation  on  general  topics,  he,  with  a  slight 
degree  of  embarrassment,  mentioned  the  object  of  his  visit.  "  I 
heard,  Sir,  yesterday,"  said  he,  "a  conversation  on  Ptirgntory, 
vhich  interested  me  much;  but  as  some  circumstances  inter- 
rupted this  conversation,  I  have  taken  the  liberty  of  coming  to 
ask  you  the  real  Catholic  opinion  on  this  point." 

"My  dear  friend,"  said  Father  Oswald  s;ently,  "  the  Catholic 
has  no  ofiinwu  on  this  point,  he  has  faith.  The  Catholic  Church, 
the  supreme  tribunal  of  our  faith,  teaches  that  there  is  a  Purga- 
tory or  place  of  temporal  punishment  after  death,  and  that  the 
souls  therein  detained  are  helped  by  the  prayers  of  the  faithful, 
aid  especially  by  the  holy  sacrifice  of  the  Mass."*  This  decree 
of  the  Church,  in  general  council  met,  is  sufficient  fora  Catho- 
lic to  regulate  his  faith  on  the  subject,  and  convince  him  more 
forcibly  of  the  existence  of  a  Purgatory,  with  the  usefulness  ot 
piayers  for  the  dead,  than  all  the  arguments  drawn  from  Scrip- 
lure  or  from  reason.  Still  it  is  a  satisfaction  to  a  Catholic, 
already  convinced  by  the  authority  of  the  Church,  to  find  that 
even  the  plain  words  of  Scripture,  and  the  plainest  dictates  of 
reason,  are  in  perfect  union  with  the  declaration  of  the  Chinch." 

"If  such  be  the  case,"  said  Sefton,  ';no  doubt  a  Catholic 
may  be  satisfied  ;  but  the  Council  of  Trent,  vou  know,  is.a  very 
modern  concern  iu  comparison  to  the  duration  of  Christianity. 
But  what  I  want  to  know  is,  if  the  first  Christians  in  the  age? 
immediately  following  the  life  of  the  Saviour,  held  and  practiced 
*  Con.  Tri.  Scss.  25.  Decret.  de  Pur?. 


216  FATHER  OSWALD. 

the  same  faith  and  doctrines  on  Purgatory  as  the  Catholics  ot 
(he  present  clayT' 

•'  Most  assuredly  they  did,"  said  Father  Oswald. 

"Well,  now,  how  can  you  prove  ill" 

"  The  writings  of  the  holy  Fathers,  of  both  the  eastern  and 
western  Church,  mast  clearly  prove,  that  from  the  first  dawn  ol 
Christianity,  the  belief  of  a  Purgatory  was  general  in  the  Church. 
Tertullian,  the  famous  champion  of  the  Christian  religion,  who 
lived  ia  the  second  age,  says,  '  No  man  will  doubt  but  that  the 
t«oul  cloth  recompense  something  in  the  places  below.'*  And 
again,  in  his  book,  Dz  Corona  JMilil-is,  '  We  make  yearly  obla- 
tions lor  the  dead.'  St.  Clement,  in  the  same  age,  tells  us,  St. 
Peter  taught  them,  amongst  other  works  of  mercy,  to  bury  the 
dead,  and  diligently  perform  their  funeral  rites,  and  also  to  pray, 
and  give  alms  for  them."t 

"  That  is  a  striking  passage,  certainly,  and  clearly  traces  the 
practice  up  to  the  Apostle.-,"  replied  Set  ton. 

"  Undoubtedly,"  said  Father  Oswald ;  "  and  St.  Cyprian  says, 
'  It  is  one  thing  being  cast  into  prison,  not  to  go  out  thence  till 
he  pay  the  utmost  farthing,  another  presently  to  receive  the  re- 
ward of  faith  ;  one  thing  being  afflicted  with  long  pains  for  sins 
to  be  mended,  and  purged  long  with  fire  ;  another  to  have  purged 
nil  sins  by  sufferings.':  In  the  fourth  age  St  Ambrose  says, 
'  But.  whereas  St.  Paul  says  yet  so  as  by  fire,  he  shows,  indeed, 
that  he  shall  be  saved,  but  yet  shall  suffer  the  punishment  ol 
fire  ;  that  being  purged  by  fire,  he  may  be  saved,  and  not  tor- 
mented Ibrever,  as  the  infidels  are,  with  everlasting  fire.'§ 
Again,  in  ihe  same  age,  St.  Jerome  says,  '  This  is  that  which 
he  saith,  Thou  shall  not  go  out  of  prison  till  thou  shalt  pay  even 
ihv  liitle  sins  ;'ll  in  the  same  age,  St.  Cyril,  of  Jerusalem,  says, 
1  We  beseech  God  for  all  those  who  have  died  before  us  believ- 
ing the  observation  of  that  holy  and  dreadi'ul  sacrifice,  which  is 
put  on  the  altar  to  be  the  greatest  help  of  the  souls  for  which  i'. 
is  offered.'  "1T 

"  It  appears,  then,"  said  Sefton  thoughtfully,  "  that  from  the 
earliest  times  Mass  was  also  offered  for  the  dead,  as  it  is  now  V 

"  To  be  sure  it  was:  does  not  St.  Jerome  say,  '  These  things 
were  not  in  vain  ordained  by  tk".  Apostles;  that  in  the  venerablo 
<ind  dreadful  mysteries  of  the  Mass,  there  should  be  made  a  me- 
ir>ory  of  those  who  have  departed  this  life;  they  knew  mucb 
benefit  would  hence  accrue  to  them"  1**  It  would  fill  volumes  to 

*  Lib.  de  Anima,  c.  53.  t  Epis.  i.  <le  S.  Petro. 

t  Epis.  52,  al  Anton.  f  Cap.  3,  Epis.  ad  Cor 

I  c.  v.  Malt.  IT  Catccli.  Myst.  5. 
**  Homil.  3,  in  Epist.  ad  1'hillip 


FATHER  OSWALD.  217 

(,HOIP  all  those  passages  from  the  holy  Fathers,  which  prove  the 
beiiei  in  the  third  place,  and  prayers  for  the  dead  to  be  coeva. 
wiin  Christianity;  those  I  have  quoted,  lived  twelve,  thirteen, 
and  fourteen,  centuries  before  the  pretended  Reformation,  ana 
were  of  course  better  judges  of  genuine  apostolical  tradition, 
than  the  reformers  could  be.  Yes,  my  good  friend,  rest  assured 
that '  it  is  therefore  a  holy  and  wholesome  thought  to  pray  for 
the  dead,  that  they  may  be  loosed  from  their  sins.'  "* 

"  Oh  !  now  you  are  coming  over  me  with  the  Maccabees,' 
said  Sefton,  smiling;  "the  Protestant  reformers  reject  them, 
you  know." 

"  Nevertheless,"  said  Father  Oswald,  "  in  the  earliest  ages  ol 
Christianity,  we  rind  the  holy  Fathers  quoting  the  Maccabees, 
as  well  as  'other  Scripture.  Witness  St.  Clement  of  Alexan- 
dria, Origen,  St.  Cyprian,  St.  Jerome,  and  St.  Augustine.  The 
books  of  the  Maccabees  are  by  the  Church  of  Christ  honoured 
and  proclaimed  as  divine  books  The  third  Council  of  Car- 
thage, as  well  as  the  General  Council  of  Trent,t  declare  the 
two  books  of  Maccabees  to  be  divine.y  inspired :  and  surely 
the  Church  of  Christ  has  as  much  authority  as  the  Jewish 
Synagogue  to  pronounce  on  the  authenticity  of  Holy  Scripture." 

"  Well,  but,"  said  Sefton,  "even  putting  out  of  the  question 
these  two  disputed  books,  there  is  a  sentence  from  Ecclesias- 
tes,  which  book  is  received  by  both  parties,  which  is  very  strong 
against  Purgatory  :  I  think  it  says,  '  If  the  tree  fall  to  the  south, 
cr  to  the  north,  in  what  place  soever  it  shall  fall,  there  shall  it 
b?.' ": 

"Admitting,"  said  the  Fathtr,  "  that  the  Scripture  here  speaks 
of  the  soul  after  death,  which,  indeed,  is  highly  probable,  how 
does  this  make  against  Purgatory"?  We  believe  that  there  are 
only  l\vo  eternal  states  after  death  ;  namely,  the  state  of  glory, 
and  the  state  of  damnation.  If  the  soul  depart  in  the  state  of 
grace,  it  shall  be  for  ever  in  that  state,  although  it  may  have 
•ome  venial  sins  to  satisfy  for,  which  may  for  a  time  retard  the 
«  onsummation  of  its  happiness.  If  it  die  in  the  state  of  mortal 
sin,  and  an  enemy  of  God,  it  shall  be  for  ever  in  torments. 
1  lere  are  two  everlasting  states,  which  may  be  meant  by  the 
n  >rth  and  south  of  the  above  text.  If  this  interpretation  is  not 
s.- tis factory,  yon  must  prove  it  to  be  false.  Used  as  we  are  to 
submit  in  religious  matters  to  none  but  an  infallible  authority, 
we  cannot  be  put  off  by  mere  opinions." 

"  But,"  said  Sefton,  "  docs  not  this  doctrine  of  Purgatory  cast 
a  reproach  on  Christ  as  a  Saviour  of  sinners,  representing  his 
-bed'ience  and  sufferings  as  insufficient  to  atone  for  their  sins  I" 
*  2  Mace.  xii.  43.  4f>.  t  Sess.  4.  *    Eccles.  xi  3 

10* 


'J18  KATIIKR  OSWALD. 

"  This  objection,  my  dear  Sir,  will  appear  very  trifling,*5 
answered  Father  Oswald, '-when  you  know,  that  the  Catholic 
Church  teaches,  that  the  merits  of  Jesus  Christ  are  of  them- 
selves far  more  than  sufficient  to  atone  ibr  all  the  sins  of  man- 
kind." 

"  Now,  Sir,  your  answer  proves  too  much  and  therefore 
proves  nothing.  For,  considering  the  sufficiency  of  Christ's 
sufferings  </><///,  it  would  follow  that  no  man  can  be  damned." 

"  But  Jesus  Christ  requires  our  co-operation,"  replied  the 
father,  "and  it  depends  upon  the  degree  of  our  co-operation, 
whether  those  infinite  merits  of  Christ  are  applied  to  us  in  a  more 
or  less  abundant  measure.  It. is  in  the  order  of  grace,  as  in  the 
order  of  nature.  'In  the  sweat  of  thy  face,  shall,  thou  eat  th.y 
bread.'*  God's  omnipotence  alone  gives  growth  to  our  grain; 
yet  without  casting  a  reproach  on  that  omnipotence,  we  may 
safely  assert,  that  in  proportion  as  we  plough,  manure,  and  sow, 
in  that  proportion  we  shall  reap.  So  likewise,  although  Christ's, 
merits  and  satisfaction  for  sinners  are  of  infinite  value,  yet  the 
benefits  we  shall  reap  from  those  infinite  merits  will  be  propor- 
tionate to  our  endeavours,  in  subduing  our  corrupt  nature  and 
sinful  inclinations,  and  in  conforming  ourselves  in  all  things  to 
the  will  of  God.  '  He  who  soweth  sparingly,  shall  also  reap  spar- 
ingly ;  and  he  who  soweth  in  blessings,  shall  also  reap  of  bless- 
ings.'t  He,  then,  who  soweth  so  sparingly  in  this  world,  as  to 
remain  in  his  dying  moment  indebted  to  the  divine  justice,  will 
after  his  death  be  compelled  to  pay  to  the  last  farthing,  what  by 
more  seriouy  endeavours  he  might  have  paid  in  this  world." 

There  was  a  pause :  at  length  Sefton  said,  "  I  certainly  can- 
not see  what  motives  could  have  induced  the  first  reformers  to 
reject  Purgatory  ;  it  appears  so  very  reasonable." 

"Nor  I  either,"  said  Father  Oswald  quietly;  <:  the  greatest 
part  of  mankind,  (all  those  who  believe  in  revelation.)  excepting 
the  followers  of  the  sni-disant,  re.'brmers,  and  numbers  of  those 
who  are  guided  by  reason  alone,  agree  in  the  belief  of  a  place 
of  temporal  punishment,  and  in  the  practice  of  praying  for  the 
dead.  If,  then,  the  Protestant  continues  to  assert  that  he  cannot 
Jind  Purgatory  in  Scripture,  nor  the  practice  of  praying  for  the 
dead,  the  Catholic  Church  and  the  Greek  Church  answer,  that 
they  find  both  the  doctrine  and  the  practice  veiy  clearly  in 
Holy  Scripture :  if  the  Protestant  peremptorilv  decides  that 
the  belief  in  a  Purgatory  is  absurd,  and  the  practice  of  praying 
for  the  dead  ridiculous,  we,  on  the  other  hand,  possessed  ot 
common  sense,  as  well  as  our  good  Protestant  neighbours,  en- 
lightened by  a  liberal  education,  as  well  as  they,  endowed  bj 
*  Gen.  iii.  19.  ?  2  Oi.  ix.  6 


FATHUR  OSWALD.  2l9 

('enius  and  taints  capable  of  the  most  profound  disquisitions, 
ia  shori,  many  of  us  adorned  with  all  the  perfections  of  the 
inderstanding,  which  nature  can  give  or  education  improve, 
—we  answer  that  we  find  the  belief  of  a  place  of  temporal 
]  unishment  and  the  practice  of  praying  for  the  dead  perfectly 
.easonab'e." 

"  The  truth  of  what  you  say  cannot  be  denied,"  said  Seftor. 
slowly. 

•'Well,  then,"  continued  the  Father,  "  here  is  reason  opposed 
to  reason;  common  sense  to  common  sense;  genius  and  talents, 
to  genius  and  talents;  but  the  reason,  common  sense,  and  tal- 
ents of  the  very  many  in  favour  of  Purgatory,  opposed  to  the 
reason,  and  common  sense,  and  talents,  of  the  com  parti  vel  view 
ai'ainst  Purgatory  ;  now  who  shall  decide;  and  decide  so  as  to 
put  the  question  ibr  ever  at  rest  7" 

"  Oh  !  that  is  the  point,"  exclaimed  Sefton  eagerly. 

"None,"  said  Father  Oswald,  reverently  raising  the  clerical 
cap  irom  his  head,  "  can  decide  but  the  great  tribunal,  which 
Jesus  Christ  established  on  earth  more  tnan  eighteen  hundred 
years  ago.  When  infusing  into  his  ministers  the  Spirit  of  truth, 
he  promised  that  that  Spirit  should  never  depart  Irom  them  to 
the  end  of  time.  This  tribunal,  as  I  have  already  stated,  has 
decided  in  our  favour,  and  it  is  because  that  supreme  and  infal- 
lible tribunal  has  decided  so,  that  we  believe  as  we  do." 

Selion  sighed  deeply.  "  There  is  much  to  reflect  on,  Sir," 
said  he,  "in  the  information  you  have  given  me,  and  I  sincerely 
thank  you  for  it.  I  trust,  however,  you  will  excuse  me  if  I 
trouble  you  on  one  subject  more  and  that  is.  the  practice  whirh 
Catholics  have  of  making  so  often  what  they  call  the  sign  of 
me  Cross;  especially  at  meal  times.  Now,  my  dear  Sir,  you 
have  no  idea  how  foolish  and  superstitious  this  appears  to  Pro- 
testants !" 

"  Really !  and  why,  pray  V 

"Oh  !  it  is  so  singular  and  childish  ;  this  monkish  trick  al 
/east  can  assuredly  never  have  received  any  sanction  from  the 
irthodox  Christians  of  the  early  Church." 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,"  said  the  Father,  smiling,  "what,  then, 
nan  St.  Cyprian  mean,  when  he  says,  '  Let  us  not  be  ashamed 
t>  confess  Him  who  was  crucified ;  let  the  sign  of  the  Crass  be 
confidently  made  upon  the  forehead  with  the  finger'  ?" 

"  I  should  like  much  to  see  that  passage,  Sir,"  said  SeJ'ton 
simewhat  doubtingly. 

"  Nothing  easier,"  replied  Father  Oswald,  rising,  "ifyoun-ilj 
a.  company  me  to  the  library." 

"  Mast  willingly,"  answered  Sefton  :  and.  to  the  library  thev 


2120  rATHKR  OSWALD. 

adjourned,  where  Father  Oswald  showed  him  not  omy  that,  bu 
the  lollowing  passage  in  Tertullian  :  '  We  sign  ourselves  with 
the  sign  of  the  Cross  on  the  forehead,  whenever  we  go  Irom 
home,  or  return,  when  we  put  on  our  clothes,  or  our  shoes,  when 
we  go  to  the  bath,  or  *it  t/oicn  tn  meal,  when  we  light  our  can- 
dles, when  ve  lie  down,  and  when  we  sit.'  Sei'ton  read,  and 
was  surprised  ;  he  mused  a  little,  but  adroitly  turned  the  con- 
versation on  general  liteiature;  and  as  the  shades  of  evening 
closed  in,  he  left  the  library  of  the  Gesu  with  regret,  and  r.o! 
without  threatening  Father  Oswald  with  another  visit.  '•  Yes," 
thought  he  to  himself,  as  he  reached  Serny's  door,  "  if  I  act 
candidly,  I  certainly  ought  to  enquire  more  particularly  into  the 
real  tenets  of  Catholicity,  lor  I  have  heard  some  extraordinary 
statements  to-day.—  May  God  give  me  the  grace  to  do  that  which 
is  right !"  added  he,  sighing  involuntarily  as  he  rung  the  bel] 
for  candles. 


CHAPTER   XXVIII. 

"  Ave  Maria  !    Mother  blest, 
To  whom  caressing  and  caressed, 

Clings  the  eternal  Child  : 
Favoured  beyond  Archangel's  dream, 
When  first  on  thee,  with  lenderest  gleam/ 

Thy  new-born  Saviour  smiled 

"  Ave  Maria !    Thou  whose  name 

All  but  adoring  love  may  cl-iim, 

Yet  may  we  reach  thy  shrine  ; 
For  He,  thy  Son  and  Saviour,  vows 
To  crown  all  lowly,  lofty  brows, 
With  love  and  joy  like  thine." 

Christian  Year. — KEBI.E. 

"  Mr  deal  Sefton,"  said  the  Bishop,  "you  must  come  and  eat 
your  Christmas  dinner  with  me  to-morrow,  that  we  may  keep 
up  good  old  English  customs,  even  in  this  strange  land." 

"  Yes,"  added  Mrs.  Boren  ;  "  from  what  I  am  given  to  under- 
stand, a  good  dinner  will  be  very  acceptable  alter  all  the  fatigues 
of  the  previous  night.  I  am  told  people  are  up  all  night,  to  see 
the  rocking  of  the  cradle,  and  keep  going  from  one  church  to 
another,  to  see  the  gross  superstitions  being  carried  on." 

"  That  is  to  say,"  said  Monsignore  Guidi  gravely,  "  the  Pro- 
.estant  part  of  the  world  who  happen  to  be  in  Rome  at  this  holy 


FATHER  OSWALD.  221 

time,  choose  to  rj;.ke  a  night  of  dissipation  of  it ;  hurrying  from 
one  church  to  another,  and  even  eating  and  drinking,  and  doing 
many  indecorous  things  in  the  sanctuary  of  God,  to  the  no  small 
scandal  and  annoyance  of  Catholics." 

'•  And  pray,  Sir,  why  should  they  not  go  from  one  church  to 
another!"  interrupted  Miss  Lavinia;  "Ihope  Mamma  will  go; 
I  am  sun  it  will  be  such  capital  fun  to  see  all  the  superstitions 
of  the  ignorant  Papists." 

"  The  Papists  are  much  obliged  to  you  for  your  politeness," 
said  MonsignoreGuidi,  bowing  ironically  ;  "but  it  really  argues 
a  great  perversion  of  the  human  intellect,  to  imagine  it  possible 
for  a  Christian  people  who  have  received  the  Gospel  to  relapse 
again  into  idolatry.  I  could  more  easily  conceive  it  possible  tor 
a  poor  deluded  ChrLnian  to  adore  the  sun  and  the  rnoon  than  a 
senseless  block  of  stone.  This  reflection  should  make  you 
distrust  your  prejudices;  however,  if  you  go  this  evening  to  St. 
Mary  Major's,  I  hope  you  may  be  fortunate  enough  to  meet  some 
poor  ignorant  Catholic  to  explain  to  you  what  you  may  see." 

"  Oh !  I  hate  explanations,"  said  the  young  lady ;  "  I  have 
eyes  and  ears,  and  can  judge  for  myself:  all  I  care  about  is  the 
fun  and  the  novelty." 

"With  all  your  eyes  and  ears,  Miss  Lavinia,"  rejoined  the 
Prelate  good-'iumouredly,  "it  is  very  possible  to  see  objects 
under  a  false  light,  and  interpret  actions  in  a  wrong  sense,  par- 
ticularly when  a  person  is  predetermined  to  find  faults  where 
other  persons  see  none." 

Lavinia  was  nettled  at  the  remark;  she  blushed  deeply  and 
bit  her  lips,  but  did  not  venture  a  reply.  Sel'ton  said  nothing, 
but  he  d^'-ermined  in  his  own  mind  not  to  join  the  Bishop's  party 
in  ihe  church,  for  he  shrewdly  suspected  he  should  have  to  blush 
for  his  countrymen.  He  and  Monsignore  Guidi  promised  to 
join  the  Bishop  at  dinner  on  Christmas-day,  and  the  party  sepa- 
rated. Sefton  attended  all  the  ceremonies  on  Christmas  night, 
in  company  with  Monsignore  Guidi,  and  was  much  struck  with 
(be  beauty  of  the  service,  and  the  splendid  illumination  of  the 
church  of  St.  Marv  Major.  He  was  also  much  pleased  with 
the  piety  of  the  crowds  who  flocked  to  this  beautiful  temple,  to 
do  honour  to  the  Infant  Saviour  and  His  Virgin  Mother.  Sef- 
ton had  still  about  his  person  the  medal  of  the  Blessed  Virgin, 
given  him  by  Sister  Angela ;  many  a  time  a  scruple  crossed 
his  mind,  whether  he  was  justified  in  conscience  by  so  doing. 
As  often,  however,  as  he  was  tempted  to  cast  it  from  him,  he 
appeased  the  misgiving  by  the  reflection  that  he  bore  the  medal 
as  a  keepsake  and  remembrance  of  a  pious  soul,  at  whose  hands 
he  had  received  the  greatest  kindness  in  an  hour  of  utmost  need. 


He  had  promised  to  wear  it  for  her  sake,  aii-1  he  was  riv»lvea 
to  keep  his  word;  there  could  be  neither  superstition  nor  iiv  piety 

in  gratitude.  But  in  that  auspicious  night  he  reflected  th'vt  he 
owed  more  to  Mary,  who  had  given  birth  to  the  Saviour  of  his 
soul,  than  to  Angela,  who  had  only  ministered  to  the  health  ol 
his  body.  From  that  moment  his  scruples  vanished.  Wit::  the 
remembrance  of  the  benefits  received  i'rom  Sister  Angela,  he 
now  joined  a  greater  veneration  for  the  Mother  of  Jesus,  from 
whom  he  had  received  the  greater  benefit,  and  whose  benign 

mage  the  medal  bore.  His  respect  and  affection  increased  as 
%e  gazed,  almost  with  a  feeling  of  enthusiasm; on  the  devotion 

•f  the  multitudes  around  him,  who  thronged  on  this  hallowrd 
night  to  her  sanctuary,  to  join  with  the  angelic  choirs  in  praising 
•he  Almighty  for  the"  birth  of  the  Infant  Saviour,  "  Glory  be  «) 
Jlod  on  high,  and  peace  on  earth  to  men  of  good  will !"  "  Afte." 
all,"  thought  Sefton  lo  himself,  "Mary  is  the  mother  of  Jesus, 
really  and  truly  ;  even  Protestants  allow  that.  When  they  were 
both  living  amongst  men  in  this  world,  she,  by  her  intercession^ 

Jiduced  Him  to  work  His  first  miracle  at  the  marriage  least  of 
•Jana,  and  to  anticipate  His  hour,  which,  as  He  said,  '  was  not 
1  el.  come.'  I  cannot  really  see  that  there  is  any  thing  so  very 
unreasonable  in  thinking  she  may  interest  herself  !br  us  now, 
•-liough  she  is  in  Heaven  ;  and  still  less  is  it  reasonable,  I  think, 
O  imagine  that  her  Son  would  refuse  her  any  request  which  she 
•night  present  Him  1'or  us,  seeing  how  dearly  our  redemption 
cost  Him."  Whether  Edward  would  have  owned  these  reflec- 
tions to  his  Protestant  friends  is  doubtful ;  nevertheless,  it  is 
certain  that  he  made  them,  and  that  he  retired  to  bed  in  a  calm, 
and  tranquil  state  of  mind. 

The  Bishop's  Christmas  dinner  was  as  merry  a  Christmas 
dinner  as  roast  beef  and  plum-pudding  could  make  it.  There 
was  abundance  of  chat  and  mirth  during  the  whole  evening;  and 
•ven  the  Bishop  expressed  himself  delighted  at  the  fine  iiiumi- 
"alions  he  had  seen,  and  the  beautiful  music  he  had  heard.  • 

"  I  hope,  my  Lord,  you  were  edified  also  at  the  devotion  von 
have  witnessed  V  said  Monsignore  Guidi. 

"  Why,  as  to  that,  Monsignore,"  answered  the  Bishop,  "  it  is 
not,  to  my  mind,  devotion  of  the  right  kind  ;  being  princi|>n'ly 
b  -dressed  to  the  creature,  instead  ol  the  Creator— to  the  Motl.'vr, 
instead  of  the  Son." 

•  For  my  part,"  said  Monsignore  Guidi  with  animation,  "  I 

ti^rsot  conceive  it  possible  !br  a  devout  Christian  to  contemplate 
..,?  Jivine  Infant,  laid  in  the  manger  at  Bethlehem,  and  not  a~ 
so'  v.<e  with  Him  the  humble  mother  who  bore  so  great  a  share 
ia  ;•••*  mystery." 


FATHER  OSWALD.  223 

"  What  hi«  lordship  observes  is  too  true,"  lisped  o;it  Mrs. 
Boren.  as  sue  helped  herself  to  a  ham-sandwich  from  the  tray 
of  cold  refreshments,  which  were  to  terminate  the  luxuries  ol 
the  evening.  "  I  cannot  approve  of  all  these  images,  and  pic- 
'.ures.  and  illuminations,  and  music :  they  are  such  unworthy 
attempts  to  move,  not  our  souls,  but  our  senses!" 

':  If  it  be  not  through  the  senses,  I  know  not  by  what  othei 
means  we  can  ever  reach  tfi?  soul"  said  Monsignore  Guidi- 
''  and  philosophers  are  generally  agreed  that  the  eye  is  a  more 
faithful  channel  than  the  ear.  A  holy  painting,  an  impressive 
ceremony,  will  often  make  a  deeper  and  more  lasting  impression 
on  the  mind  than  the  most  eloquent  sermon." 

"  Perhaps  on  some  gross  and  material  natures,"  said  Mrs. 
Boren  contemptuously,  "but  not  on  those  blessed  with  reiine- 
ment,  and  enlightened  by  the  pure  light  of  the  Reformation." 

"  Well,  my  dear  Mcdam,"  replied  the  Prelate,  "I  have  fre- 
quently heard  you  profess  yourself  an  enthusiastic  admirer  of 
nature  ;  now,  what  is  this  but  to  feed  the  mind  and  soul  through 
the  senses  1  why,  then,  should  I  be  prohibited  from  filling  my 
soul  with  pious  reflections  through  the  same  medium  1" 

i:  There  can  be  no  doubt,''  interposed  the  Bishop,  "  that  the 
sublime  scenery  of  nature  is  admirably  adapted  to  inspire  the 
soul  with  awe  and  veneration  for  the  great  Creator." 

"No  doubt,"  said  Monsignore  Guidi;  "yet  these  sentiments 
are  still  within  the  bounds  of  natural  religion;  they  n't  well 
with  the  devotions  of  the  contemplative  hea'hen.  I  have  no 
doubt  that  the  savage  who  traverses  the  inttrminable  plains, 
and  forests,  and  rocks,  and  floods  of  his  native  country,  will 
often  be  filled  with  awe  and  veneration  for  the  great  Spirit,  and 
will  hear  his  voice  in  the  howl  of  the  tempest  or  the  roar  of  tho 
cataract.  With  much  more  reason  shall  the  humble  Christian 
be  moved  to  the  more  gentle  sentiments  of  piety,  gratitude,  love, 
and  devotion,  while  he  contemplates  a  lively  representation  ol 
any  one  mystery  of  his  redemption,  be  it  the  divine  Infant  in 
the  crib  of  Bethlehem  or  the  expiring  Man-God  on  Calvary 
Almighty  God,  who  formed  the  constitution  of  man,  ordained  a 
vast  number  of  imporing  ceremonies  in  the  old  law  for  this  ex- 
press purpose.  The  v  ithering  influence  of  Calvinism  chills  all 
devotion,  and  would  roh  us  of  all  external  aid." 

"  I  can  assure  you,  Monsignore  Guidi,"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Boren 
warmly,  "you  may  talk  about  ceremonies  till  midnight  if  you 
choose,  but  you  will  never  persuade  me  that  the  devotion  I  have 
seen  paid  to  the  Virgin  since  I  came  abroad,  is  any  thing  but 
rank  superstition." 

"  My  good  lady,"  replied  Monsignore   Guidi,  "  nothing  is 


2*24  FATHER  OSWALD. 

more  shocking  to  Christian  feelings  than  the  proud,  supercilious 
contempt  which  Protestants  show  towards  the  Virgin  Mother  of 
'.he  Redeemer.  Most  assuredly  they  can  have  but  little  love  for 
;he  Son  who  try  to  disparage  the  Mother.  The  angel  used  a 
very  different  style  when  he  spoke  to  our  blessed  Lady,  announc- 
ing to  her  that  she  was  to  be  the  mother  of  the  Messiah." 

"  It  is  much  to  be  lamented,  Sir,"  said  the  Bishop  pompously, 
"  how  the  Catholic  Church  has  perverted  the  sense  of  Scripture 
in  regard  to  the  Mother  of  the  Redeemer,  who  is  neither  more 
nor  less  than  a  simple  creature.  The  salutation  of  the  angel, 
'Hail,  highly-favoured  !'  are  not  words  upon  which  the  worship 
vou  pay  to  Mary  can  be  founded,  seeing  that  words  implying 
<till  greater  favour  than  the  words  '  highly-favoured'  had  been 
addressed  on  three  occasions  to  Daniel;  and  to  David,  and  to 
Abraham  also  words  of  higher  import  have  been  used." 

"  In  the  first  place,"  said  Monsignore  Guidi,  "  I  must  protest, 
against  the  new-fangled  expression,  'hail,  highly  favoured.' 
The  old  expression,  'hail,  full  of  grace,'  gives  the  sense  of  the 
Greek  term  full  as  well,  or  better;  besides,  it  is  a  literal  trans- 
lation of  the  Latin  version  ;  which  has  been  used  in  the  Catholic. 
Church  these  eighteen  hundred  years,  and  made  at  a  tirne,» 
when,  no  doubt,  they  understood  the  import  of  the  Greek  word 
full  as  well  as  they  do  now.  Whatever  expressions  may  have 
been  used  to  honour  Daniel,  David,  or  Abraham,  you  must  allow 
that  no  honour,  prerogative,  or  grace  was  ever  conferred  on 
them  that  can  be  distantly  compared  to  the  singular  privilege 
conferred  on  Mary  when  she  conceived  and  bore  the  Son  of  the 
Most  High." 

"  But,"  subjoined  the  Bishop,  "  Catholics  defend  their  idola- 
trous worship  of  the  Virgin  from  the  words  addressed  by  Christ 
to  his  disciple  John,  on  consigning  to  him  the  care  of  his  mo- 
ther; 'Behold  thy  mother;'  now,  the  Evangelist  simply  adds 
Ihe  consequence  of  this  charge,  '  and  from  that  hour  that  disci- 
ple took  her  unto  his  own  home.'  " 

'•Excuse  me,  Sir,"  said  the  Prelate,  "Protestants,  indeed, 
say,  'l'>.at  the  disciple  took  her  unto  his  own  home,'  but  this 
last  wo.  d  is  not  found  either  in  the  Greek  or  Latin  ;  it  is  a  Pro- 
testant addition  to  the  Word  of  God ;  most  probably  St.  John 
had  no  home,  and  particularly  at  Jerusalem;  the  true  meaning 
is,  he  took  her  to  himself,  into  his  own  possession;  he  treated 

*  That  is.  reckoning  from  the  date  of  tho  first  or  old  version,  which  was 
made  in  the  life  lime  of  the  Apostles  :  probably  at  the  recommendation, 
and  under  the  authority,  of  their  thief  St.  Peter.  But  reckoning  from  tne 
time.  Si  Jerome's  translation,  [the  present  vulgate]  was  publ.»hed,  it 
'las  been  in  use  beyond  1400  vears 


KATIIF.R   OSWALD.  yj5 

per  as  his  own  mother;  and  it  is  easy  to  conceive  with  \vhai 
love,  respect,  and  veneration,  when  she  came  commended  by 
the  CT/iag  accents  of  his  beloved  Lord.  Now,  Catholics  do  the 
same:  they  love  to  call  her  mother;  they  beseech  her  to  receive, 
lliem  as  her  children,  as  she  received  John  i'or  her  son;  in  ;:!! 
their  doubts  and  anxieties,  in  all  their  difficulties  and  dangers, 
they  invoke  her  as  their  mother,  because  they  are  persuaded, 
and  have  experienced,  that  her  intercession  with  her  divine 
Son  is  all-powerful ;  I'or  what  can  such  a  Son  deny  to  such  a 
mother  7" 

"I  must  own,"  said  Sefton  firmly,  "that  it  has  frequently 
struck*  me  that  devotion  to  the  Mother  of  God — for  she  really  is 
the  Mother  of  God — is  both  touching  and  conspling,  and  rational 
too ;  for,  how  is  it  possible,  respect  to  Mary  should  be  displeasing 
to  God,  who  hss  selected  her  in  such  a  very  peculiar  way  i*s 
the  most  highly  favoured  of  his  creatures  7" 

"Mr.  Sexton,  you  astonish  me!"  said  the  Bishop;  "I  little 
thought  to  hear  from  your  Protestant  lips  such  a  blasphemous 
expression  as  '  Mother  of  God'  applied  to  any  creatnre.  however 
pure 'and  highly  favoured  she  may  have  been.  She  was  the 
mother  of  (he  Man-Jesus,  but  in  no  sense  the  Mother  of  God.'' 

"What!"  exclaimed  Monsignore  Guidi  with  astonishment, 
"  is  it  possible  thai  you  can  have  renewed  in  England  the  old 
heresy  of  Nestorius  7  do  you  then  distinguish  two  persons  in 
Jesus  Christ ;  the  one  human,  the  other  divine  7" 

•"We  pay  no  attention  to  your  metaphysical  distinctions  of 
persons,"  said  the  Bishop  ;  "  we  find  nothing  of  that  in  Scripture  ; 
we  know  Jesus  Christ  as  God  and  as  man." 

"  I  arn  astonished,"  replied  the  Prelate,  "  that  a  divine  should 
speak  so  vague!}'.  We  are  agreed  that  th.^re  are  two  distinct 
natures,  divine  and  human,  in  Jesus  Christ ;  but  the  question  is, 
whether  there  be  two  persons  or  one  oly  Person  ;  and  on  the 
solution  of  that  question  the  very  existe.  :e  of  Christianity  de- 
pends; if  Christ  has  a  human  person,  av  'ou  seem  to  suppose, 
why,  then,  it  was  a  human  person  only  v\no  suffered.  What, 
then,  becomes  of  the  infinite  merits  of  his  atonement  7" 

"  Pooh !"  said  the  Bishop,  "  the  Scripture  nowhere  makes 
these  scholastic  distinctions." 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,  my  Lord ;  the  Scripture  everywhere 
represents  to  us  Jesus  Christ  as  one  and  the  same  individual 
person:  atone  time  styling  him 'the  Son  of  the  living  God.' 
and  the  same  '  the  Son  of  Mary.'  Now,  that  individual,  who  is 
undoubtedly  God.  was  born  of  the  Blessed  Virgin,  and,  conse- 
quently, she  is  truly  and  properly  called  the  Mother  of  God." 

"Such  distinctions  only  serve  to  confound  the  ideas  of  simple 
Christians,"  said  the  Bishop.  £0 


/2  FATHER  OSWALD. 

"  I  can  see  no  confusion  in  the  matter,"  interposed  Sefton, 
"except  what  seems  to  exist  in  your  lordship's  own  ideas. " 

"  I  certainly  am  extremely  surprised  at  what  his  lordship  has 
expressed,"  said  Monsignore  Guidi ;  for  I  had  imagined  that 
!he  Protestant  divines  of  the  established  Church  of  England 
vere  better  informed." 

"Allow  me,"  said  Sefton,  "torecal  your  lordship's  attention 
to  some  of  the  early  Christian  -writers  for  proofs  of  the  antiquity 
of  service,  devotion,  and  respect  paid  to  the  Mother  of  God." 

"Yes,"  said  Monsignore  Guidi;  "it  is  precisely  this  high 
dignity  of  Mother  of  God  that  raises  Mary  far  above  all  other 
creatures;  others  may  have  been  called  '  blessed  among  women, 
but  to  no  other  \yas  it  ever  said  by  otie  filled  with  the  Holy 
Ghost,  '  blessed  art  thou  among  women,  and  blessed  is  the  irui 
of  thy  womb;  and  whence  is  this  to  me  that  th.'-  mot/it r  nf  »w/ 
L»rd  should  come  to  rne  !'*  Yes,  Mother  of  God  is  a  title  justly 
due  to  Mary,  and  as  such  all  the  plenitude  of  grace  and  glory 
that  can  be  conferred  on.  a  pure  creature  is  conferred  on  her; 
less  than  thai  would  be  unbecoming  her  exalted  dignity,  end 
reflect  dishonour  on  her  divine  Son.  I  am  astonished  that  Pro- 
testants, who  try  to  debase  the  Mother,  cannot  sec  ihat  thereby 
they  debase  the  Son." 

"Because,"  interrupted  the  Bishop  vehemently,  "Protestants 
know  that  Catholics  rob  the  Son  of  the  proper  devotion  due  to 
him,  to  give  it  to  his  Mother." 

"Excuse  me,  mv  dear  Sir,"  said  Monsignore  Guidi,  "the 
Catholic  Church,  in  all  ages,  has  enhanced  the  praise  and  glory 
of  Mary,  knowing  that  thereby  she  magnified  and  extolled  the 
more  the  praise  and  glory  of  her  Son,  from  whom  she  has  re- 
ceived every  thing;  hence  has  been  verified  her  own  prophecy. 
1  Behold,  from  henceforth,  all  generations  shall  call  rne  blessed  ' 
Protestant, generations  have  no  part  in  this  prophecy." 

The  Bishop  bit  his  lip,  but  said  nothing. 

"  It  is  my  full  belief,"  said  Mrs.  Boren,  "that all  intermediate 
intercessors  between  us  and  the  Son  of  God,  is  a  doctrine  utterly 
opposite  to  the  Bible." 

"My  dear  Madam,"  said  the  Prelate,  "allow  me  to  observe, 
that  a  single  text  of  Scripture  cannot  be  brought,  which  forbids 
intermediate  intercession  between  us  and  the  Son  of  God  ;  but 
there  are  many  which  command  it ;  as  often  as  we  are  exhorted 
to  pray  for  one  another;  and  there  is  even  in  Scripture,  an  in- 
stance of  departed  souls  praying  for  their  brethren  t  But,  were 
there  nothing  in  Scripture  to  recommend  a  devotion  so  rational 
anc!  so  consoling,  the  constant  practice  of  the  universal  Church 
is  a  recommendation  abundantly  sufficient." 

*  Luke  i.  42.  t  2  Mace.  xv.  11. 


FATHER  OSWALD. 


227 


"  My  dear  Monsignore  Guidi,"  replied  Mrs.  Boren  impatiently, 
"  it  is  "an  absurdity  to  say,  that  the  Scriptures  upon  which  the 
Romish  Church  rests  her'clairas  as  a  Church,  are  in  the  hands 
of  her  enemies,  while  she  finds  it  necessary  to  her  very  exist- 
ence to  prevent  her  people  reading  these  Scriptures." 

"  My  dear  lady,"  said  Sel'ton,  "this  is  very  like  shuffling  out 
of  the  question,  and  no  answer  whatever  to  what  Monsignore 
Guidi  stated." 

-  All  1  can  say,"  observed  Monsignore  Guidi,  "is,  that  it  is 
to  the  Catholic  Church  that  her  enemies  are  indebted  I'or  the 
Scriptures;  and  what  is  more,  these  said  enemies  have  no  other 
proof  that  tru  Scriptures  are  genuine,  authentic,  and  inspired 
by  the  Holy  Ghost,  but  the  authority  and  tradition  of  the  Cath- 
olic Church,  while  she  never  lelt  such  a  necessity  for  the  main- 
tenance of  her  existence:  no,  the  security  of  the  Catholic  Church 
rests  upon  a  better  foundation,  namely,  on  the  promises  of 
Christ." 

At  that  moment,  Mr.  Sefton's  carriage  was  announced,  and 
he  and  Monsignore  Guidi  wished  the  party  good-night,  with 
that  very  unsatisfactory  feeling  which  will  occur,  when  on* 
party  is  "doubting,  and  the  other  certain. 


CHAPTER    XXIX. 

"  Bv  various  text  we  both  uphold  our  claim, 
Nay,  often  ground  our  titles  on  Ilie  same  , 
After  Ion;;  labour  lost  and  time's  expense. 
Both  -.'rant  the  words,  and  quarrel  for  the  sense: 
Thus  all  disputes  for  ever  must  depend.  » 

For  no  dumb  rule  can  controversies  end." 

DRYDEN. 

"  D:D  you  ever  read  a  little  book  called  '  The  Nun  V  sairt 
Sefton,  one  day.  to  Father  Oswald,  as  he  was  sitting  in  the  li- 
brary of  the  Gesu. 

"  Yes,  I  have,"  replied  Father  Oswald,  smiling. 

"  Well,  what  do  you  think  of  it  V 

"Think  of  it,  my  dear  Mr.  Sel'ton,  there  can  be  but  one  opi- 
nion by  those  who  know  the  spirit  and  practice  of  the  Catholic 
religion  '  The  Nun'  is  a  specimen  of  the  most  bare-faced 
falsehood,  that  was  ever  presented  to  the  enlightened  English 
nation." 

*  And  yet,"  said  Sefton,  "  it  has  run  through  four  editions." 


22O  FATIIKR  OSWALD. 

"  Only  another  proof  of  the  gullibility  of  John  Bali,"  ujid 
Father  Oswald  quietly 

"  I  have  just  been  reading  another  in  the  same  style,  entitled, 
'The  Catholic  Chapel.'  " 

"  I  have  seen  that  also,"  replied  Father  Oswald ;  "  it  is  a  tame 
specimen  of  ignorant  falsehoods  and  mis-statement*;  the  dark- 
ness of  the  author  is  so  dense,  that  he  cannot  see  the  truth  ;  he 
has  distorted  and  misrepresented  every  Catholic  dogma  which 
he  has  touched  upon,  and  thinks,  or  at  least  would  have  his 
readers  think,  that  he  has  faithfully  given  the  doctrine  of  Bos- 
suet  and  the  Council  of  Trent.  It  is  not,  however,  so  violent 
as  '  The  Nun,'  which  is  a  downright  insult  to  the  common  sense 
of  mankind." 

"But  is  it  not  true,  Sir,"  inquired  Sefton  hesitatingly,  "that 
Ihe  Bible  is  kept  out  of  sight  of  all  Catholics,  but  the  Clergy?" 

"  My  dear  friend,  it  is  a  gross  calumny ;  the  Catholic  Church 
permits  all  her  children  to  read  the  Bible  in  approved  versions, 
with  explanatory  notes,  that  they  may  not  be  tossed  about  by 
every  wind  of  doctrine,  and  make  shipwreck  of  their  faith, 
for  she  knows  well  that  in  the  Scriptures  there  are  certain 
things  hard  to  be  understood,  'which  the  unlearned  and  unstar 
bie  wrest  to  their  own  destruction.'*  Now,  unquestionably, 
ninety-nine  Bible  readers  in  one  hundred  are  either  unlearned 
or  unstable." 

""Well,  Sir."  answered  Sefton,  :t I  always  had  a  notion  that 
the  Scripture  was  forbidden  to  the  laity,  and,  consequently, 
I  thought  that  Church  must  be  in  error  which  shuts  up  the  Word 
of  God  from  the  people." 

"  The  Church  does  not  shut  up  the  Word  of  God  from  the 
people,"  said  Father  Oswald  dryly,  "  only  she  has  an  old-fash- 
ioned way  of  her  own  in  announcing  it  to  them,  which  she  is 
not  likely-to  quit,  in  order  to  please  the  itching  ears  of  Bibli- 
cals;  she  is  mindful  of,  and  carefully  inculcates  on  her  minis- 
ters, the  Apostolical- charge  given  to  Timothy,  '•Preach  the 
Word,  be  instant  in  season — out  of  season,  reprove,  entreat, 
rebuke  in  all  patience  and  doctrine.  For  there  shall  be  a  time 
when  they  will  not  endure  sound  doctrine,  but,  accirrdinff  to  ('heir 
own  desires,  they  will  heap  to  themselves  teachers,  having  itch- 
ing ears,  and  will  indeed  turn  away  their  hearing  from  the  truth, 
but  will  be  turned  unto/nWcs,'t  Alas!  is  not  that  fearful  time 
come  V 

"You  must  excuse  me,  Father  Oswald,  if  I  speak  plainly; 
but  it  certainly  appears  to  Protestants,  that  the  Catholic  clergy 
subject  themselves  to  strong  suspicions  when  they  refuse  their 
*  2  Peter  iii.  16  t  2  Tim.  iv.  2,  3,  4. 


FATHF.R  OSWALD.  2U9 

people  the  right  of  judging  of  their  pretensions  by  the  Scrip- 
tures; Protestants  desire  to  be  judired  by  no  other  rule." 

"  Your  own  good  sense,  my  dear  Sir,"  replied  the  Father, 
"must  tell  you  that  the  unlettered  multitude  are  incapable  of 
judging  rightly  by  such  a  rule;  neither  c;>n  the  learned  of  your 
various  sects  decide  any  one  dispute  by  the  same  rule.  Allow 
me  to  add,  that  Protestants,  whatever  they  may  pretend,  never 
submit  to  their  own  rule  when  a  Catholic  divine  product*  *he 
most  explicit  texts  against  them.  These  interminable  disputes 
only  prove  the  necessity  of  another  rule,  and  that  an  infallible 
one.  to  determine  the  right  sense  of  Scripture." 

"  But."  snid  Setton,  "  the  rulers  of  the  Church  of  Rome  do 
not  believe  in  its  infallibility;  the  common  people  only  believe 
this;  again,  the  clergy  differ  whether  infallibility  resides  in  the 
Pope  alone,  or  in  the  Pope  with  general  council*,  or  in  councils 
approved  by  the  Pope. 

"  The  Catholic  Church,  that  is  the  Pastors  of  the  Catholic 
Church,"  replied  Father  Oswald,  "are  constituted  by  divine  au- 
thority to  expound  the  Bible  to  the  people,  and  to  judge  what  is 
true  or  false,  and  what  is  right  or  wrong;  therefore  they  can 
never  submit  to  the  people,  who  have  no  authority  to  judge,  but 
are  commanded  to  'obey  their  prelates  and  be  subject  to  them  ;'* 
and  the  real  fact  is,  that  even  amongst  yourselves,  the  great 
mass  of  every  sect  must  form  their  opinions  from  the  expositions 
of  their  favourite  preacher,  while  imagining  they  draw  them 
from  the  Scripture." 

"  But  they  may  dissent  if  they  choose  from  any  such  opinion, 
and  there  is  the  glorious  prerogative  of  the  Reformation." 

"  So  much  the  worse  for  them,"  said  Father  Oswald,  "  for 
the  Redeemer  himself  commands  the  people  '  to  hear  the  Church,' 
on  pain  of  being  considered  'as  the  heathen  and  publican  ;:t 
that  is  the  Catholic  Church;  for  he  certainly  did  not  refer  to 
the  Protestant  Church,  and  its  swarming  brood  of  dissenters, 
who  allow  every  man  to  follow  his  own  idle  and  heated  fancies." 

Seflon  looked  perplexed. 

"  Again,"  continued  the  Father,  "  our  Saviour  says,  '  He  that 
heareth  you,  heareth  me;  and  he  that  despise'h  you,  despiseth 
me;  and  he  that  despiseth  me  despiseth  Him  that  sent  me.';  Now. 
the  Bishops  of  the  Catholic  Church  cannot  submit  to  be  judged 
by  every  upstart  crazy  Biblical ;  it  is  in  vain  for  the  Protestant 
to  appeal  for  judgment  to  the  Bible;  rJie  Bible  is  dumb,  and  has 
never  yet  pronounced  judgment  in  ;r.y  causs  where  the  con- 
demned party  assumes  the  right  of  interpreting  the  sentence  in 
nis  own  favour,  that  is,  of  appealing  from  the  clearest  texts  o» 

*  Ileb.  xiii.  17  t  Matt,  \vjjj.  IT  j  l.uke  x.  16 

20* 


1330  FATHEH  OSWAIA». 

the  Divine  Word  to  his  own  private  judgment.  Now,  observe, 
Mr.  Sel'ton,  the  Protestant  protests  against  all  the  authorities 
constituted  by  Christ  in  his  Church,  to  bring  all  '  into  the  unity 
of  faith,'  arid  sets  up  a  supreme  and  infallible  tribunal  in  his 
own  pride,  from  which  there  is  no  appeal.  Amongst  the  thou- 
sand and  one  sects,  into  which  Protestantism  has  been  splintered, 
I  never  read  of  the  union  of  any  two  sects  brought  about  by 
Bible  reading:  but  I  have  read  of  many  new  schisms  in  each 
sect  produced  by  the  same  cause.  When  you  have  settled  your 
own  disputes  and  shown  us  a  model  of  the  '  unity  of  faith,'  it 
will  be  time  enough  then  to  invite  us  to  follow  your  splendid 
example:  till  then,  we  shall  march  on  in  the  old  track  of  our 
forefathers."* 

"  But."  interrupted  Sefton,  "  where  does  your  infallibility  ex- 
ist 1  answer  me  that  question,  if  you  please." 

"When  people  speak  of  the  doctrine  of  the  Catholic  Church, 
they  should  first  make  themselves  acquainted  with  it.  Every 
Catholic,  lay  or  clerical,  believes  in  the  infallibility  of  the 
Church  ;  it  is  an  article  of  divine  faith,  and  he  who  doubts  of  it 
would  cease  to  be  a  Catholic.  All  Catholics  believe  that  when 
the  great  body  of  the  Bishops,  either  congregated  in  general 
council  or  dispersed  through  the  whole  world,  agree  with  their 
head  in  any  thing  appertaining  to  faith  and  morals,  that  that 
agreement  is  an  infallible  rule  of  truth.  Of  this  there  neither 
is  nor  can  be  any  dispute,  lor  on  the  rock  Peter,  principally, 
Christ  promised  to  found  the  stability  and  indelectibility  of  His 
Church.  Then  to  Peter,  and  to  the  rest  of  the  Apostles,  as  a 
body  subordinate  to  its  head.  He  promised  to  send  '  the  Spirit  of 
truth  to  be  with  them  for  ever,  to  teach  them  all  things,  and 
bring  all  things  to  their  mind  whatsoever  He  had  said  to  them ;' 
in  a  word,  'to  teach  them  all.  Irulli.'i  Finally,  when  He  gave 
them  his  last  commission  to  '  teach  all  nations,'  He  pledged  his 
Divine  Word  that  He  would  be  with  them  when  teaching  'all 
dai/s,  even  unto  the  consummation  of  the  world.'  These  are  the 
title-deeds  of  the  Church  for  her  claims  to  infallibility  ;  and  all 
the  powers  of  Hell  and  Protestantism  combined  shall  never 
wrest  them  from  her.  You  will  observe,  my  dear  Sir,  that  we 
ground  the  infallibility  of  the  Church  teaching,  not  on  the  falli- 
ble opinions  of  weak  men,  but  on  the  infallible  promises  of  Christ, 
and  the  unerring  guidance  of  the  Holy  Ghost." 

''  I  see."  replied  Sefton,  "and  I  feel  the  full  force  ot  your  ar- 

*  On  this  interesting  subject,  the  reader  should  peruse  an  cxcuHen' 
little  work,  The  liible  Question  Fairly  Tested,  lately  published  by  Casseily 
and  Sons,  N.  Y. 

t  John  xiv.  10,  20  .  xvi.  13. 


FATHER  OSWALD.  231 

gument.  The  text?  are  certainly  very  clear,  and  it  there  beany 
meaning  in  them,  the  promises  must  still  subsis'  somewhere  in 
liie  Church  :  may  we  not  suppose  that  these  promises  were  made 
to  all  the  faithful  generally  who  search  the  Scriptures,  with  sim- 
plicity of  heart  and  with  a  sincere  desire  of  finding  out  the 
troth  1" 

l;  Whoever  has  a  simple  heart  and  a  sincere  desire  of  find- 
ing out  and  knowing  the  truth,  will  seek  lor  it  through  thosu 
means  only  which  God  has  appointed;  and  the  smallest  reflec- 
tion will  convince  him,  that  these  promises  of  Christ  were  made 
to  the  Apostles  only  as  the  future  teachers  of  his  doctrine  to  all 
nations;  and  as  the  promises  were  to  endure  'all  days,  even 
unto  the  consummation  of  the  world,'  it  follows,  that  the  promi- 
ses still  remain  with  the  legitimate  successors  of  the  Apostles. 
If  the  promises  were  made  to  all  the  faithful  generally,  how 
happens  it  that  amongst  Protestants  no  two  can  be  found  to 
agree  1  Is  it  that  the  Holy  Ghost  teaches  contradictory  doctrines 
to  each  individual  1  or  can  no  two  individuals  be  found  who 
search  the  Scriptures  with  simplicity  and  sincerity  1" 

"The  dilemma  is  lather  puzzling,"  said  SeUon,  somewhat 
nettled  ;  "  but  you  also  hold,  I  believe,  that  the  Pope  is  infallible. 
Now,  that  is  a  very  shocking  doctrine,  when  we  consider  hoar 
many  Popes  have  been  profligate,  wicked  men." 

"  Not  many,"  replied  Father  Oswald  mildly,  "  when  you  come 
to  read  their  genuine  history.  A  few,  indeed,  in  a  long  series 
of  holy  and  learned  men,  have  been  a  disgrace  to  their  high 
station.  But  do  not,  like  most  Protestants,  confound  impecca- 
bility with  infallibility.  No  Catholic  attributes  the  former  to  any 
Pope.  You  should  remember  also  that  Balaam  was  a  wicked 
Prophet,  yet  God  forced  him  to  prophecy  the  truth ;  and  Cai- 
phas  was  no  saint,  yet  in  virtue  of  his  office  he  prophecied  the 
iruth  also.  Infallibility  is  a  pledge  given  for  the  whole  Church, 
and  is  totally  independent  of  the  merits  or  demerits  of  anv  in- 
dividual." 

"  I  see."  said  Refton  ;  "  but  do  you  really  hold  that  every  in- 
dividual Pope  is  infallible  V 

"  That  is  another  question."  said  Father  Oswald,  "  which  not 
being  a  defined  anicle  of  faith,  is  freely  agitated  in  Cathc.ic 
schools ;  it  is  this :  whether  a  dogmatical  decision  of  the  Pcpo, 
speaking  authoritatively  to  the  whole  Church,  or  ex  Cathedra, 
as  it  is  expressed,  be  infallible  or  not  before  it  has  been  accepted 
by  the  great  body  of  the  Pastors.  The  greatest  number  and 
the  most  learned  of  divines  hold  the  affirmative,  and  those  who 
question  it,  freely  grant,  that  in  fact  there  never  was  a  dogmati- 
cal decree  issued  by  a  Pope  which,  sooner  or  .later,  was  not 


2:2  FATHER  OSWALD. 

agreed  to  by  all  the  other  Bishops.  So  that  the  dispute  is  re- 
dueed  to  a  question  more  about  the  possibility  of  a  thing  than 
about  its  reality  •  that  is  to  say,  whether  it  be  possible  for  the 
great  bodv  of  Bishops  to  dissenf  from  a  dogmatical  decision  of 
their  head  for  a  considerable  space  of  time  ;  and  the  most  sensi- 
ble answer  to  the  question  is,  that  the  thing  is  impossible  as  lonj, 
as  the  promises  of  Christ  shall  stand." 

"  That  is  the  best  explanation  on  this  subject  I  have  yet 
Heard,"  said  Sei'ton  musingly;  "  but  to  return  to  the  Scriptures; 
you  must,  I  think,  acknowledge  wilh  me.  Sir,  that  they  ;ire  not 
addressed  to  the  learned  only,  or  else  a  very  large  number  of 
Catholic  Priests  ought  not  to  read  them  :  lor  many  well-educa- 
ted laics  are  far  better  informed  than  they  are." 

"  Undoubtedly,"  replied  Father  Oswald  ;  "  the  Scriptures  were 
never  addressed  to  'the  unlearned  and  unstable,  who  wrest  them 
.to  their  own  destruction,'  and,  therefore,  the  Biblemen,  who 
thrust  the  Bible  intliscrii»i*ai*t$  into  the  hands  of  all,  powerfully 
help  forward  the  devil's  work  in  hurrying  souls  to  perdition. 
Your  insinuations  about  the  ignorance  of  the  Catholic  clergy 
is  too  ridiculous  to  spend  words  over  it :  some,  indeed,  may  be 
found  little  versed  in  the  mechanical  and  chemical  sciences  of 
the  day;  but  they  are  all  well  instructed  in  the  science  of  the 
Saints  and  in  the  Bible:  for  the  fact  is,  the  Catholic  clergy, 
learned  or  unlearned,  read  more  of  Holy  Scripture  daily,  and 
know  its  genuine  meaning  better  than  the  most  learned  Bible- 
mongers.  They  know  that  '  all  Scripture  inspired  of  God  is 
profitable  to  (each,  In  reprove,  to  cmrert.  l.n  inx'-ruc'.  in  justice.'* 
Now,  as  these  are  the  special  duties  of  their  vocation,  they  have 
known  them  like  Timothy  from  their  infancy;  but  they  know, 
also,  that  the  Scriptures  can  only  '  instruct  to  salvation  by  Uie 
fa'tk  which  is  in  Christ  Jesus.'  They  first  acquire  this  faith 
from  the  only  source  from  which  it  can  be  drawn  ;  and  then 
they  read  the  Bible  and  understand  it.  The  Biblicals  on  the 
contrary,  open  their  Bible  rtiit/ioutfailA,  for  they  open  it  to  learn 
•what,  they  are  to  b'./.ievc  ;  and  hence  they  stumble  on  '  questions, 
rather  than  the  edification  of  God,  which,  in  in  faith.'  " 

"  That  is  a  very  striking  observation,  which  I  do  not  reccllect 
to  hare  heard  before,"  said  Sefton. 

"  It  is,  however,  quite  true,"  continued  the  Father,  "  and,  there- 
fore, it  is  no  wonder  that,  '  going  astray,  they  are  turned  aside 
unto  vain  babbling;  desiring  to  be  teachers  of  the  law,  under- 
standing neither  the  things  they  say,  nor  whereof  they  affirm.'* 
Yes,  yes ;  be  assured,  my  esteemed  friend,  that  Catholics,  men, 
women,  and  children,  understand  more  of  the  genuine  spirit  of 
*  2  Tim  iii.  16.  t  1  Tim.  i.  4 


FATHER  OSWALD.  233 

the  Bible  than  all  your  fanatic  Biblicals  together.  Listen  to  the 
household  words  which  a  French  writer  puts  into  the  mouth  ol 
a  child  speaking  to  its  mother: 

Oh  !  montre  nous  ta  Bible,  et  les  belles  imases, 
Le  cicl  d'or,  les  saints  bleus,  les  saintes  a  seiiout, 
l.'enfant  Jesus,  la  creche,  et  le  bcnuf,  et  les  Hinges, 
Fais-nous  lire  dn  doi«t  dans  le  milieu  des  pages 
Uri  peu  de  ce  Latin  qui  parle  a  Uieu  de  nous.'" 

Sefton  looked  a  little  foolish;  hut  rallying  his  Protestant 
spirit  of  opposition  a'nd  cavilling,  "Well,  then,  Father  Oswald," 
said  he,  "since  you  even  brag  of  Catholics  beini:  acquainted 
with  their  Bible,  what  objection  can  you  have  to  the  poor  Bibli- 
cal reading  his  ?" 

"  One  reason,  and  that  a  verv  serious  one ;  and  I  have  already 
stated  it."  replied  Father  Oswald:  "namely,  that  the  Biblica? 
studies  his  Bible  \ofiwl  mil.  his  failh  in  it,  and  to  interpret  it  ac- 
cording to  his  own  arbitrary  fancy:  the  Catholic  studies  his 
Bible  to  confirm  his  faith  and  morality  ;  he  studies  it  only  in  ap- 
proved editions,  and  with  authorized  notes  and  explanations; 
and  he  has  not,  neither  doss  he  wish  to  have,  the  pernicious 
and  false  liberty  of  interpreting  it  according  to  his  private  judg- 
ment." 

"Well,  but,  Sir,"  persisted  Sefton,  "if  the  Protestant  trans- 
lation of  the  Bible  is  correct,  which,  I  suppose  it  to  be,  I  canno\ 
see  the  objection  to  its  universal  perusal." 

"  For  the  reasons  I  have  already  several  times  stated,"  said 
Father  Oswald  patiently,  "  we  are  not  ordered  to  '  hear  the 
Bible,  but  to  hear  the  Church ;'  moreover,  it  is  a  notorious  fact, 
that  many  Protestants  complain  loudly  of  the  inaccuracy  of 
their  own  translation.  Catholic  divines  point  out  many  passa- 
ges that  are  f,ils  ///translated,  and  many  more  that  are  so  insidi- 
inishj  rendered,  as  to  lead  many  astray." 

Sei'ton  was  silent  for  a  tew  minutes,  and  then  said.  i!  1  believe 
you  always  spe=ik  the  truth — at  least,  what  you  think  lo  be  the 
truth,  Father  Oswald,  without  the  fear  of  any  man  ;  now,  tell 
me  candidly,  do  you  not  think  that  faith  in  the  Church  of  (.'A rift 
in  opposition  to  the  Church  of  linmr.  sufrk-ient  for  salvation  T' 

"  Really,  Sir,"  said  Father  Osw:>l  I.  "  I  do  not  well  under- 
stand \ou  ;  you  take  it  for  gninlel.  that  the  Church  of  Christ  is 
i;i  opposition  to  the  Church  of  Rome.  That  is  what  we  denv  ; 
d;e  question  is.  which  among  the  manv  Christian  sects,  is  the 
true  Church  of  Christ  ?  consequently,  if  the  Church  of  Horn? 
happens  :o  be  the  Church  of  Christ,  faith  in  ;my  other  church, 
which  you  may  faccy  to  be  the  Church  of  Christ,  will  avail  you 
little." ' 


231  FATHKR  OSWALD. 

At  i'lis  moment  a  lay  brother  knocked  at  the  door,  and  sura- 
moiied  the  Father  to  some  urgent  business.  Selton  took  his 
leave,  and  shaking  him  warmly  by  the  hand,  "  I  tear,"  said  he. 
"  I  have  had  rather  the  worst  of  it  this  time  ;  but,  for  all  that,  1 
shall  come,  and  try  again  another  day,." 

'•Bravo!"  said  Father  Oswald  as  they  walked  down  stairs 
•  ogether:  "you  remember  the  old  proverb,  '  Truth  lies  at  the 
bottom  of  a  well.'  and  you  must  dive  deep  to  find  it.  But  leC 
me  recommend  to  your  most  serious  attention  the  important  text 
of  Scripture,  which  says,  '  Ask,  and  it  shall  be  given  you ;  seek, 
and  you  shall  find;  knock,  and  it  shall  be  opened  to  you.'* 
Earnest  prayer  to  the  Father  of  Lights,  with  a  pure  mind, — a 
simple  and  docile  heart,  will  not  fail  to  obtain  the  first  of  God's 
graces— the  knowlege  of  the  truth." 


CHAPTER    XXX. 

"  lie  hath  a  tear  for  pity,  and  a  hand 
Open  as  day  for  melting  charity  ; 
Yet  notwithstanding,  being  incensed,  he's  flint." — SHAKSPEAKB 

ONE  morning,  as  Sefton  and  the  Captain  mounted  their  horses 
at  Serny's  door,  to  take  a  ride  into  the  country,  they  were  ac- 
costed by  a  poor  Capuchin,  who  had  an  empty  bucket  on  his 
arm,  with  the  usual  salutation,  'Benedicite.'  He  then  asked 
some  small  alms  for  his  convent,  '  (or  St.  Francis'  sake,  and  for 
sweet  Charity.'  Sefton  roughly  refused  him,  taunting  him  al 
the  same  time  with  his  poverty  and  idleness;  and  then,  as  he 
vaulted  into  his  saddle,  turned  to  Luigi,  saying,  "Who  is  this 
idle  vagrant  1  Tell  him  to  get  out  of  the  way." 

"  Bless  you,  Sir!"  said  Luigi,  in  an  apologetic  tone,  "  it  is  only 
poor  Father  Guiseppe,  a  most  holy  man;  everybody  knows 
Father  Giuseppe ;  he  is  ever  doing  good  to  the  poor  and  afflicted, 
and  brings  comfort  and  consolation  to  them  on  the  bed  of  sick- 
ness. Shall  I  give  him  an  alms,  Sir"?" 

"  By  no  means,"  answered  Selton  ;  "  I'll  have  no  hand  in 
cncourag  ng  hypocrisy,  under  the  cloak  of  religion.  Move 
off,  fellow,  and  learn  to  earn  your  bread  by  honest  labour ;  such 
idle  varlets  should  not  be  tolerated."  So  saying,  he  set  off  on 
his  ride,  little  -eflecting  on  the  pain  he  had  without  justice  01 
reason,  inflicted  c.ii  a  fellow-creature. 
*  Matt.  -:i  7 


FAYHER  OSWALD.  5J3i 

Tbe  poor  friar  raised  up  his  manly  countenance,  darted  a 
glance  of  indignation  from  his  kindling  eye,  and  muttered  with 
a  trembling  lip,  ':  The  time  was,  when  I  could  ill  have  brooked 
such  a  gratuitous  insult ; — but"  He  checked  himself,  made  a 
humble  obeisance,  and  retired,  while  a  deep  blush  covered  his 
fine  ieatures,  at  the  consciousness  that  the  'old  man'  was  not 
yet  dead  within  him.  Sefton  had  marked  the  indignation  i-f  the 
first  emotion,  and  the  subsequent  humiliation,  which  he  did  not 
fail  to  attribute  to  a  conscious  feeling  of  having  met  with  a  wdl- 
deserved  reproof.  Luigi  lagged  behind,  and,  unobserved,  dropt 
H  pittance  from  his  own  pocket  into  the  basket  of  the  friar. 

"  How  the  government  can  encourage  such  a  set  of  idle  drones 
and  vagabonds,  I  canr.ot  make  out,"  added  the  Captain,  as  ho 
joined  his  companion. 

Father  Guiseppe,  in  the  meantime,  treasured  in  Heaven  the 
humiliation  he  had  received;  yet  wondering  in  his  own  heart, 
that  the  handsome,  generous-looking  Englishman,  who  was 
known  to  give  alms  so  abundantly,  should  have  treated  him  so 
roughly.  Father  Guiseppe  was  a  stout,  fine-looking  man.  about 
sixty,  with  a  beard  as  white  as  snow;  he  was  of  noble  birth, 
had  moved  in  the  highest  ranksof  society,  and  had  distinguished 
himself  by  deeds  of  valour  in  the  field  of  battle.  But  reflecting 
on  the  vanities  of  all  worldly  honours,  he  had  retired  in  the 
prime  of  life  to  the  cloister,  in  order  to  gain  a  higher  and  a 
never-fading  crown  of  glory.  He  was,  as  Luigi  had  expressed 
it,  truly  a  good  man  ;  his  life  was  hidden  with  God  in  Jesus 
Christ ;  but  what  was  visible  of  it  to  the  eyes  of  the  world,  was 
marked  by  daily  deeds  of  mercy  and  humanity  to  his  fellow- 
creatures.  As  he  returned  to  his  convent,  musing  nn  what  had 
passed,  he  breathed  an  '  Ave  Maria'  for  the  conversion  of  him 
who  had  so  unthinkingly  and  unfeelingly  wounded  his  feel- 
ings: yes.  his  feelings!  for  many  a  warm  heart,  and  many  a 
delicate  mind,  exist  under  the  rough  habit  of  St.  Francis,  con- 
temned, unheeded,  and  unknown  by  the  gay  and  thoughtless  vo- 
taries of  a  vain  and  empty  world. 

Sefton  and  the  Captain  cantered  out  into  the  country,  around 
Monte  Mario,  where  they  had  appointed  to  join  the  Bishop  and 
his  party,  with  Monsignoie  Guidi,  for  a  cold  luncheon,  at  two 
o'clock.  All  the  party  met  at  the  appointed  place,  and  spent  the 
afternoon  in  rambling  about  that  inieresting  part  of  the  environs 
of  Rome.  As  sunset  drew  near,  they  seated  themselves  on  a 
favourable  elevation,  to  view  the  rich  glories  of  the  setting  lu- 
minary over  the  metropolis  of  the  Christian  World;  they  ai' 
gazed  at  the  glorious  spectacle  in  silence,  -which  was  only  inter- 
rupted by  Mrs.  Boren,  in  a  half  sighing,  half-murmuring  voice 


M36  FATHER  OSWALD. 

°xclaiming,  "  What  a  thousand  and  a  thousand  pities  it  is,  tha 
this  unrivalled  Rome  should  be  the  sejt  of  such  corruption ; 
and  that  the  Romish  should  be  the  most,  corrupt  of  the  churches 
pro'essing  Christianity." 

The  Bishop  groaned  his  assent,  and  Monsignore  Guidi  looked 
up  with  an  air  of  surprise.  "  Easily,  though  not  very  charita- 
bly said,"  exclaimed  he  ;  "  however,  I  can  pity  ignorance,  and 
Christian  charity  teaches  us  to  bear  patiently  with  prejudice, 
while  there  is  hope  to  enlighten  the  one.  or  remove  the  other; 
but  what,  I  pray,  can  be  your  reason,  Madam,  for  these  bolt! 
assertions  1" 

Mrs.  Boron  coloured,  and  stammered,  and  hesitated,  and  at 
length  lisped  out,  "  I  say,  that  the  Romish  Church  is  the  mast 
corrupt  of' all  the  Christian  churches;  mark,  I  do  not  deny  that 
there  may  not  be  found  some  good  Christians  even  in  the  Ro- 
mish Chuch ;  but  you  know  that  Christ  addressed  Seven 
Churches  in  Asia,  yet  addressed  all  as  if  there  were  true  Chris- 
tians in  e^ch.  though  thev  had  all  fallen  into  corruption;  such 
i-s  the  present  state  of  the  Christian  churches  of  our  Jays." 

Monsignore  Guidi  smiled.  '•  My  dear  lady,"  said  he,  "I  car. 
see  nothing  but  deplorable  misconception,  if  not  unseemly  abus<: 
in  what  you  have  been  saying;  I  can  find  no  argument  to  grap- 
ple with  ;  I  can  only  see  a  false  supposition,  as  if  there  were 
wan;/  Christian  churches.  Christ  founded  but  nnc  Church ;  the 
only  question  is  which  is  that  one.  The  different  dioceses  in 
which  the  one  universal  Church  is  divided,  may  be  called 
churches  in  a  restricted  sense,  because  they  are  portions  ol 
Christ's  one  flock,  congregated  together  under  the  imtncdia'.e 
guidance  of  their  own  Bishop,  but  they  all  profess  the  one  faith 
and  doctiine  of  Christ,  and  are  all  united  to  the  Chief  Shepherd, 
the  Vicar  of  Christ  on  earth.  Such  were  the  Seven  Churches 
of  Asia;  they  all  professed  the  same  faith,  though  some  rotten 
sheep  were  found  amonst  them." 

"No,  no,"  interrupted  Mrs.  Boren ;  "Christ  addressed  the 
Seven  Churches  as  seven  distinct,  independent  churches,  each 
standing  on  its  cwa  foundation,  and  governed  by  its  own  angel, 
or  bishop." 

•  "Then,"  said  Monsignore  Guidi,  "you  must  have  many  in 
dependent  churches  in  England,  and  i/mir  kv.iband,  Madam,  is 
an  angel,  I  suppose,  wedded  lo  one  of  them." 

Sefton  and  the  Captain  were  convulsed  with  laughter;  Mrs, 
Boren  blushed,  and  the  Bishop  looked  awkward. 

"Oh!  but,"  said  Mrs.  Boren,  with  more  animation  than  she 
usually  exhibited,  "  you  will  never  persuade  me  that  the  Popish 
Church  is  not  lull  of  corruptions.  The  Word  of  God  is  not  the 


TATHER  OSWALD.  237 

guide  of  that  church,  because  that  church  teaches  thai  the  end 
sanctifies  the  means,  and  that  it  is  justifiable  to  murder  thousands 
on  thousands,  to  suppress  what  she  calls  heresy." 

"Adagio,  adagio,  cried  Monsignore  Guidi ;  "for  the  s.T^eof 
truth,  stop,  and  let  not  your  zeal  outstrip  all  prudence.  The 
Church  teaches  no  such  impiety;  but  it  would  seem  that  Bihli- 
cals  are  not  very  scrupulous  about  means,  wten  they  have  re- 
course to  such  gross  misstatemcnts.  in  order  to  attain  their  san- 
ctified end  of  deluding  the  ignorant,  and  of  alienating  them  more 
and  more  from  their  ancient  Mother.  The  Church  \sndtg-niilei 
by  the  Word  of  God  in  the  sense  of  Biblicals. — that  is.  by  the 
dead  letter  of  the  book,  interpreted  according  to  the  wild  fancy 
of  each  individual; — the  Church  is  guided  by  the  unerring  Spirit 
of  truth;  she  has  received  the  promise  of  the  Spirit  'to  shide 
with  her  for  ever,'  and  '  to  teach  her  nil  truth  ;*  to  her  is  com- 
mitted the  Word  of  Go.l,  written  or  unwritten,  the  whole  deposit 
of  '  faith  once  delivered  to  the  saints,' and  she  faithfully  keepj 
that  faiih  uncorrupt  and  incorruptible.  It  is  her  office  to  inter- 
pret and  expound  the  Word  of  God,  and  guide  her  children  to 
the  right  understanding  of  it." 

"  You  had  better  take  care  what  you  say.  Mamma,'1  said  the 
Captain,  laughing  rather  maliciously,  "or  you  ma}' get  into  the 
Inquisition." 

'The  Inquisition  !"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Baren  ;  "for  Heaven's 
sake,  Frederick,  don't  talk  o!'  that  merciless  tribunal." 

"  The  Inquisition  !'!  said  Miss  Lavinia — "  frightful  monster! 
Gracious!  brother!  one's  blood  runs  cold  at  its  very  name." 

"  Come !  come !"  said  the  Prelate,  "  do  not  let  us  shrink  from 
a  mere  name:  what  is  its  meaning"" 

"  Its  meaning  !"  creamed  the  Bishop  and  his  lady,  and  the 
( 'aptain  and  his  sister,  all  in  a  breath  ;  ':  its  meaning  !  whv,  is  it 
not  the  very  sink  of  all  that  is  horrible,  and  cruel,  and  bigoted, 
nnd  tyrannical!" 

"Order!  order!"  said  Sefton  in  a  deprecating  tone;  "fair 
play  is  a  jewel,  and  we  must  allow  Monsi^noie  Guidi  to  an- 
s'.ver  one  person  at  a  time,  and  one  accusation  after  another;" 
and  then,  after  a  pause,  he  added,  "Will  you  tell  us  now,  my 
good  Sir,  what  is  the  real  meaning  of  the  Inquisition  V 

"  It  means,"  said  Monsignore  Guidi,  bowing  to  Sefton, 
'  neither  more  nor  less  than  a  court  of  inquiry  !  Its  oflict;  is  to 
watch  over  the  integrity  of  faith  and  morals.  Its  mode  o:  pro- 
ceeding is  the  most  merciful  and  the  most  lenient.  It  can  take 
10  cognizance  of  a  man's  interior  thoughts  and  .-entimem:;,  tuey 
arc  removed  far  bevond  the  reach  of  any  human  tribunal  they 

*  John  MV.  1C  •  xvi   13 
ill 


238  PATHEII  OS\VALJ>. 

rest  between  man  and  God.  Hence,  if  a  man,  in  the  pride  oi 
his  own  heart,  chooses  to  dissent  i'rom  the  faith  of  the  Church, 
he  is  perleclly  free  to  do  so,  and  he  will  answer  to  God  alone  for 
his  interior  heresy  or  impiety.  The  Inquisition,  then,  takes 
cognizance  only  of  overt  acts.  In  this  inquiry  it  proceeds  with 
the  greatest  caution,  prudence,  and  lenity.  Suppose  a  man  rises 
up  to  pi  each  a  new  doctrine,  '  another  Gospel,'  to  disturb  the 
people  in  the  possession  of  their  ancient  faith,  or  to  scandalize 
their  piely  by  some  gross  immorality — and,  by  the  way,  delin- 
queni'3  oi  this  species  are  far  more  common  than  those  who  im- 
pugn the  lakh — well,  the  faithful  '  note  that  man,  and  do  not 
Keep  company  with  him;  they. admonish  him  as  a  brother,'* 
and  if  he  will  riot  hear  them,  they  tell  'the  Church, 't  and  de- 
nounce him  to  the  tribunal  of  the  Inquisition." 

"  Yes,"  exclaimed  the  Captain  indignantly  ;  "  then  the  hypo- 
critical tyrants  let  their  hell-hounds  loose,  to  rush  on  their  prey!" 

"  Not  so  fast,  Captain,  nor  so  fierce,"  said  the  Prelate  calmly; 
"  the  sjcred  office  never  proceeds  upon  one  information,  as  civil 
tribunals  generally  do.  They  must  have  two,  three,  or  four  un- 
exceptionable witnesses,  be.bre  they  move  a  step.  When  they 
have  these,  they  call  the  delinquent,  and  admonish  him  of  his 
error;  if  he  acknowledge  his  fault,  and  promise  amendment,  he 
is  dismissed  with  a  trifling  penance,  probably  not  exceeding  the 
recital  of  the  Seven  Penitential  Psalms,  if,  after  '  a  first  and 
second  admonition,'  he  remains  obstinate  in  his  error,  he  is  then 
considered  ¥a  heretic,  to  be  avoided,  being  subverted  and  con- 
demned by  his  own  judgment,';  that  is,  by  his  own  obstinacy 
in  judgment,  contrary  to  the  doctrine  of  Christ.  He  is  now  im- 
prisoned as  adangerous  man,  'a lying  teacher,'  who  endeavours 
'to  bring  in  sects  of  perdition  ;'§  and  lead  the  ignorant  and  un- 
wary into  the  ways  of  destruction." 

"Aye,  poor  devil !"  said  the  Captain  ;  "  once  get  him  safe  in 
prison,  and  his  fate  will  be  hard  enough,  I  warrant.  Such 
.stories  as  I  have  heard  of  it,  would  make  your  very  hair  stand 
on  end." 

"  Nevertheless,"  continued  Monsignore  Guidi,  "  I  can  assure 
you  as  a  fact,  that  his  prison  is  not  one  of  racks  and  torments, 
as  you  fondly  imagine,  but  one  far  more  lenient  and  comfortable 
than  that,  to  which  is  consigned  the  poor  poacher,  or  the  desti- 
tute vagrant,  in  Protestant  England." 

"  Have  you.  ever  been  in  England,  Sir  1"  said  the  Bishop 
haughtily. 

"Yes,  my  Lord,"  replied  the  Prelate,  "and  I  have  explorec 
many  of  its  prisons  and  public  establishments  also." 

*  2  Thes.  iii.  14.  t  Matt,  xviii.  17. 

t  Tit.  iii.  10  42  Peter  ii.  1 


I'ATUKn  OSWALD.  '239 

"  Weii,  but  what  do  they  do  with  our  imaginary  delinquent 
when  he  is  tlius  imprisoned  V  said  Selion  eagerly. 

"  He  is  'reproved,  entreated,  rebuked,  and  lhat  in  all  patience 
and  doctrine;'*  but  it'  he  still  remain  obstinate,  if  'he  cari.'iut 
endure  sound  doctrine,'  the  tribunal  then  proceeds  to  its  extreme 
sentence  of  excommunication;  it  pronounces  its  anathema,  and 
'delivers  him  up  to  Satan,  that  he  may  learn  not  to  blaspheme.'t 
Here  the  Inquisition  closes  its  proceedings,  and  delivers  the 
culprit  into  the  hands  of  the  secular  power,  who  do  with  him 
according  to  the  criminal  laws  of  the  kingdom:  with  which  the 
Church  has  nothing  to  do." 

"What  bigoted  laws  must  those  be,"  said  the  Bishop  pom- . 
potislv,  "to  make  a  man  answerable  for  his  freedom  of  opinion." 

"  I  cannot  help  being  surprised,  Sir,"  said  the  Prelate,  "that 
you,  who  call  yourself  a  Bishop  of  the  Church  of  England,  as 
*>i/  In  in  established,  should  advance  such  a  proposition." 

"  How  so  V 

"  Because  I  did  not  conceive,  that  a  man  of  judgment  coula 
persuade  himself  that  God  had  given  to  man  any  freedom  of 
'.•pinion  in  matters  of  faith  :  that  is,  the  liberty  to  receive  or  to 
reject,  at  his  own  caprice,  whatever  God  has  vouchsafed  to  re- 
veal to  mankind." 

"  Humph  !"  said  the  Bishop.  "  What  has  that  to  do  with  the 
persecuting  laws  of  man  1" 

(i  I  do  not  mean,"  said  Monsignore  Guidi  with  a  serious  air, 
"  to  defend  the  system  of  civil  persecution  ;  yet  I  conceive  it 
very  possible  lor  a  Christian  prince  to  deem  it  his  duty  to  [ire- 
serve  his  people  from  the  poison  of  the  heretic,  as  well  as  irom 
the  poniard  of  the  assassin.  Heresy  and  murder  are  eqiu.ily 
ranked  by  St.  Paul  amongst  those  crimes,  which  'exclude  from 
the  kingdom  of  God.'  ": 

"  I  see  clearly,"  said  the  Bishop,  "  that  you  are  an  advocate 
for  persecution." 

"Not  so,  my  Lord;  I  merely  hint  at  motives,  which  if  they 
do  not  justify,  may  extenuate  in  great  part  the  severity  of  the 
civil  law.  You  will  allow,  I  think,  lhat  every  citizen  is  obliged 
to  observe  the  law  of  the  state  under  which  he  lives,  and  is  pre- 
lected, so  long  as  the  law  is  not  contrary  to  the  law  of  God." 

"Undoubtedly,"  replied  the  Bishop.  "I  shall  ever  stand  up 
lor  the  inviolable  sanctity  of  the  law,  without  which  neither  our 
lives  nor  property  would  be  secure." 

''•  Well,  then,"  continued  the  Prelate,  "a  law  prohibiting  the 
dissemination  of  schism  and   heresy  amongst  a  |:eop|p  in  pos- 
session of  the  'faith  once  delivered  to  the  saints'  can  never  be 
•  2  Tim.  iv.  2.  t  1  Tim.  i.  20.  ;  Gai.  v.  20. 


240  FATHER  OSWALD. 

deemed  contrary  to  the  law  of  God;  and  if  such  (*.;=..<•  <r.nr.t;on 
is  known  to  produce  dissensions,  strife,  rapine-,  a.iu  o'.ojdsheu, 
amongst  a  people  once  united,  the  state  is  uflJjjU'.d.y  ju.-;ti 
lied  in  enacting  such  a  law.  under  such  penalties  ES  may  bf 
judged  necessary  to  arrest  the  evil.  Every  stale  in  Europe  has 
enacted  such  laws,  under  penalties  of  a  greater  or  less  degree  01 
severity." 

"  On  these  principles." subjoined  the  Bishop,  "yon  justify  the 
penal  laws  of  the  British  legislature,  which  lays  certain  disa- 
bilities on  the  Papists  and  Dissenters,  and  deprives  them  ol 
some  privileges." 

"Pardon  me,  Sir,"  replied  the  Prelate,  "the  case  is  quite 
different:  the  British  legislature  began  by  establishing  i.hn  risht 
of  each  individual  to  frame  hi*  own  creed,  and  then  very  incon- 
sistently and  tyrannically  chastises  him  with  pains  and  penal- 
ties, if  lie  dare  to  profess  a  ereed  different  from  that  by  law  es- 
tablished. No  Catholicstate  admits,  or  can  admit,  Ibfa  pretended 
right.  They  know  that  every  man  is  obliged  to  sutmit  his 
judgment  to  the  revealed  truth  of  God  ;  and  they  know  that  God 
has  established  an  infallible  tribunal,  to  decide  what  that  truth 
is.  You  Protestants  reject  infallibility,  and  therefore  have  no 
olea  to  control  the  judgment  of  any  man." 

"But,"  said  Sefton,  "the  laws  in  the  ecclesiastical  courts  of 
England  against  blasphemy,  and  similar  crimes,  are  not  so  very 
dissimilar:  .and  as  for  persecution,  England  itself,  even  Pro- 
testant England,  must  blush  for  one  of  the  blackest  codes  of 
persecution  that  ever  disgraced  a  Christian  people.  Whilst  we 
boasted  of  liberty  of  conscience,  and  the  right  of  each  individual 
to  judge  for  himself  in  matters  of  religion,  we  hung,  drew,  and 
quartered  the  bodies  of  Catholics,  and  confiscated  their  property, 
if  thev  dared  to  assert  the  same  liberty.  If  your  statement  be 
true.  Monsignore  Guidi.  it  alters  the  case  very  much,  and  the 
aspect  of  the  Inquisition  is  extremely  different  in  my  mind  to 
what  I  had  previously  imagined." 

•'  Perfectly  true,  my  dear  Sefton,  I  assure  you  ;  ask  any  well- 
informed  Catholics  you  choose,  and  they  will  tell  you  the  same 
thing,  and  confirm  all  I  have  said  to  you." 

"And  I  tear,"  said  the  Bishop  disdainfully,  "that,  notwith- 
standing all  you  have  said,  it.  will  be  found  that  in  the  Inquisi- 
tion, the  degree  of  corruption  into  which  the  Church  has  lallen 
is  so  awfully  evident,  that  there  is  no  resisting  the  command, 
'C>:me  out  of  her,  my  children,  that  ye  receive  not  of  her  plague--.' " 

"Really.  Sir,"  replied  the  Prelate  with  some  spirit,  "  if  po- 
liteness did  not  restrain  me,  I  might  fairly  and  easily  r^ort,  by 
laying  that  in  the  whole  system  of  Biblicism,  the  decree  of 


PATHFR  OSWALD.  241 

error,  confusion,  corruption,  and  impiety,  into  which  it  has  fallen, 
and  led  men  captive  into  perdition,  is  so  evident,  that  it  would 
be  no  great  wonder  if  a  simple,  pious  Catholic  wished  the  Bible 
Societies  and  ail  their  Bibles,  might  taste  a  little  of  the  whole- 
some  corrections  of  the  said  Inquisition.  We  should  not  then 
have  so  many  bewildered  heads." 

There  was  a  pause :  Sef'ton  hummed  a  tune,  and  the  Bishop 
looked  unutterable  things.  By  this  time  the  sun  had  set.  and 
the  party  returned  to  Rome,  musing  on  what  had  passed. 


CHAPTER    XXXI. 

"  The  world  is  fa'len  into  an  easier  way  , 
This  age  knows  belter  than  to  fast  and  pray.'' — DHTDEX. 

THE  winter  advanced,  and  Sefton  felt  as  most  people  do  who 
spend  a  winterin  Rome, — thattime  seems  to  glide  on  tooquickly, 
and  that  the  days  appear  too  short  for  all  there  is  to  see.  anil 
hear,  and  reflect  upon.  The  merry  carnival  came  in  due  time, 
and  Sefton  was  both  amused  and  edified  : — arnusea  at  the  lolly 
of  the  multitude,  and  edified  at  the  piety  of  many.  Mrs.  Boren 
and  her  young  people  made  the  most  of  this  glorious  time  of  fun 
and  merriment,  and  each  day  S.TW  them  sedulously  goirigthrough 
the  fatigues  of  dissipation  :  on  the  Corso  by  day,  and  at  the  bi!ils, 
theatres,  and  masquerades  by  ni?ht.  Selion  was  sometimes  in- 
luced  to  join  ;  bin  before  Ash-Wednesday  he  was  heartily  tired 
of  it,  and  rejoiced  at  the  idea  of  a  speedy  return  to  sober  sense : 
even  the  Bishop  was  wearv  of  hearing  of  nought  else  from 
morning  till  night  but  comfits,  horses  races,  ball-dresses,  and 
masks  and  the  like.  As  he  and  his  party  sat  indulging  in  the 
luxuries  of  a  hot  supper,  about  eleven  o'clock  on  Tuesday  nirht, 
he  exclaimed  with  the  utmost  sincerity,  "I  never  was  better 
pieased  in  my  life  than  to  think  all  this  mummery  and  nonsens* 
are  at  an  end  I" 

Airs.  Boren  yawned. 

"Well,  we  have  had  enou?h  of  it,"  answered  the  Captain; 
"  it  is  capital  fun  though  !  I  pity  those  poor  devils  of  Catholics 
who  have  to  get  up  to-morrow  morning  to  fast  and  pray  and  re- 
.ieve  the  poor." 

"  Poor  creatures  !''  drawled  out  Miss  Lnvinia  sympathetically. 

"Ye?.,  their  delusion  is  very  gross,"  said  Mrs.  Boren,  "to 
21* 


«M2  FATIIKK  OSWALD. 

iraaginc  that  fasting,  and  charity  to  the  poor,  are  meritorious 
towards  salvation  or  atonement  for  sin  ;  the  blood  of  Christ  alone 
being  sufficient  lo  merit  Heaven:  and  it  is  enough  for  us  poor 
mortals  to  believe  in  Him." 

"You  have  jumbled  together  so  many  misconceptions,"  said 
Monsignore  Guicli,  "  that  it  is  dilficult  to  unravel  them.  Cath- 
olics hold  that  fait/t.  is  the  groundwork  of  salvation — '  without 
faith  it,  is  impossible  to  please  God  ;*  but  faith  alone  will  nol 
save  a  man.  'If  thou  will,  enter  into  Hie,  keep  the  command- 
ments.'t  '  Do  you  see  that  by  works  a  man  is  justified,  and  riot 
by  laith  only  1  For  even  as  a  body  without  the  spirit  is  dead, 
so  also  faith  without  works  is  dead.'}  'If  I  should  have  all 
faith,  so  that  I  could  remove,  mountains,  and  have  not  charity, 
I  am  nothing. '§  To  sum  up  ali  in  one  word,  we  must  have 
'  faith  that  ••corkcth,  by  charity. 'll  Now  of  these  good  works,  so 
essential  to  salvation,  the  pious  Catholic  thinks  he  can  never 
do  too  many:  nay,  all  that  he  does  appears  as  nothing  to  what 
he  would  wish  to  do;  because  he  knows  that  his  reward  in 
Heaven  will  bs  proportioned  to  the  extent  of  his  good  works." 

"  How  wof'ully  disappointed  your  pious  Catholic  will  be, 
Monsignore,"  said  Mrs.  Boren,  "  when  he  cornes  to  die,  and 
finds  his  hands  empty  in  consequence  of  the  absurd  doctrine  ot 
his  Church,  thai  it  is  in  the  power  of  fallen  man  himself  to 
merit  favour  from  God." 

"  What  then  do  you  suppose  is  meant,  Madam,  by  these 
words  of  Scripture,  '  Every  man  shall  receive  his  own  reward 
according  to  his  own  labour'T.'IT  said  Monsignore  Guidi. 

"  I  was  not  aware  there  were  such  words,  Sir,"  lisped  Mrs. 
Boren,  "but — " 

"  Yes  !  yes  !  my  dear,"  interposed  the  Bishop  hastily.  "  there 
are  such  words.  I  have  preached  from  that  text  myself,  Mrs. 
Boren,  and  I  am  far  from  thinking  good  works  are  indifferent. 
Supposing  even,  however,  for  argument's  sake,  they  do  no 
positive  good  towards  salvation,  still  they  can  do  no  harm; 
especially  works  of  charity  to  the  poor." 

"I  should  be  of  opinion,"  said  Sefton,  "that  they  are  posi- 
tively meritorious  towards  salvation,  seeing  that  at  the  day  of 
judgment  those  who  do  them  shall  receive  their  reward,  and 
those  who  have  neglected  them  shall  be  condemned." 

"Most  certainly,"  said  Monsignore  Guidi;  "and  is  it  no 
also  written  as  plainly  as  the  greatest  caviller  on  earth  can  re 
quire,  that  'God  wiil  render  to  every  man  according  to  hi? 
works'  ?**  Now  these  good  works  are  eminently  three, — prayer, 

*  Heb.  ii.  6  +  Matt.  jcix.  17.          t  .las.  ii.  24.  t)  1  Cor.  liii  4 

I  G»l.  v.  6  ^  1  Cur.  iii.  8.  **  Horn.  ii.  6 


FATHER  OSWALD.  843 

fasting,  and  almsdeeds,  so  nmch  recommended  by  Christ  in  his 
sermon  on  the  mount;*  for  each  of  which  he  h;is  pledged  n is 
divine  word,  that 'the  Father  will  repay  thee."  By  prayer  we 
understand  all  acts  of  devotion  and  piety,  towards  God ;— by 
Casting,  all  mortifications  of  our  members,  with  their  vices  and 
concupiscences; — by  almsdeeds,  all  acts  of  charity  and  benevo 
lem  e  towards  our  neighbours." 

"Still  I  cannot  think',"  persisted  Mrs.  Boren,  "how  these 
works  performed  bv  frail  man  become  meritorious,  or  deserve 
reward." 

"  Certainly  not  from  man  himself,"  said  Monsignore  Guidi, 
"but  from  the  grace  of  Christ;  for  it  is  written,  'Not  that  we 
are  sufficient  to  think  any  thing  of  ourselves,  as  of  ourselves, 
but  our  sufficiency  is  from  God.'  "t 

"  Then  it  conies  to  what  I  maintain,"  said  Mrs.  Boren  trium- 
phantly, "  that  all  our  merits  are  from  Christ,  and  we  have  no- 
thing else  to  do  but  apply  them  :  all  our  own  efforts  are  trash  !" 

"  Stay,  my  good  lady," -exclaimed  Monsignore  Guidi;  "thai 
is  not  the  truth,  by  any  means,  much  less  is  it  the  faith  of  Catho- 
lics. Our  Saviour  himself  illustrates  the  whole  doctrine  in  the 
most  simple  and  beautiful  parable  of  the  vine,  where  he  says. 
'  I  am  the  true  vine,'  and  farther  on  adds,  '  Abide  in  me:  and  1 
in  you.  As  the  branch  cannot  bear  fruit  of  itself,  unless  it  abide 
in  the  vine,  so  neither  can  you  unless  you  abide  in  me.  I  am 
the  vine;  you  the  branches;  he  that  abideth  in  me,  and  I  in 
him.  the  same  beareth  much  fruit ;  for  without  me  you  can  do 
nothing.  If  any  one  abide  not  in  me,  he  shall  be  cast  forth  as 
a  branch,  and  shall  wither,  and  they  shall  gather  him  up,  and 
cast  him  into  the  fire,  and  he  burneth.'t  Now,  according  to  the 
very  words  of  our  divine  Saviour,  if  a  man  be  not  united  to 
Him  bv  faith  and  sanctifying  grace,  he  is  like  the  witherei! 
branch,  incapable  of  bearing  fruit,  and  fit  only  to  be  cast  into 
ihe  fire.  He  may  be  endowed  with  a  kind  heart, — he  may  IK- 
actuated  by  a  natural  benevolence  to  succour  suffering  human- 
ity;— he  may  give  his  substance  to  the  poor  and  his  body  to 
thetlames;  nay,  he  may  move  mountains  by  his  faith;  but  il 
he  abide  not  in  the  love  of  Christ,  in  his  sanctifying  grace.  ;.li 
his  works  are  dead  and  they  are  not  entitled  to  an  clerna! 
reward." 

"Gracious  goodness!"  interrupted  Miss  Lnvinia,  '•  v/ha! 
strict  doctrine!  it  is  too  bad  we  should  have  been  so  long1  mis- 
ted on  these  matters ;  I  had  no  idea  Catholics  thought  in  thai 
way." 

•Nevertheless,"  replied  Monsignore  Guidi,  "this  is  rsal 
•  Matt.  vi.  t  2  Cor.  iii.  5.  ;  John  xv.  1,  1.  C. 


244  FATHEl.  OSWALD. 

orthodox  !octrine.  Natural  good  works,  flowins:  from  a  kinJ 
heart,  may  indeed  move  God  to  mercy,  and  incline  him  to  confer 
the  grace  of  faith  and  conversion:  such  for  instance  was  (he 
case  with  Cornelius,  the  first  converted  gentile;  but  the  works 
i>">-  se  are  not  entitled  to  an  eternal  reward." 

Sefton  sighed. 

"'  On  the  contrary,"  added  Monsignore  Guidi,  "the  just  man 
that  abiderh  in  the  love  of  Christ  beareth  much  fruit:  the  fruit 
is  his,  although  it  draw  al!  its  value  from  the  merits  of  Christ: 
•In  this  is  my  Father  glorified,  that  you  bring  forth  very  much 
fruit:  abide  in  my  love ;  if  you  keep  my  commandments  you 
shall  abide  in  my  love."  Thus  the  origin  "of  faith,  justification, 
and  of  all  subsequent  merit,  is  the  grace  of  Christ :  and  the  co- 
operation of  man  with  that  grace  makes  the  merit  his  own. 
Such  is  the  doctrine  of  St.  Paul,  speaking  of  his  own  works: 
1  By  the  grace  of  God,  /  am  what.  I  am,  and  his  grace  in  me 
hath  not  been  void  ;  but  I  have  laboured  more  abundantly  than 
all  they;  yet  «»/,  7:  but,  ike  grace  of  Grid  wtiJi  me.'  "* 

"This  is  certainly  very  clear  and  beautiful  doctrine,"  said 
Sefton. 

"  Yes,"  continued  Monsignort  Guidi ;  "  and  this  svstem  is  so 
far  from  depreciating  the  merits  of  Christ,  that  it  exalts  them 
exceedingly,  and  gives  us  a  more  sublime  idea  of  their  efficacy, 
when  we  see  them  thus  fructify  and  increase  continually  in  the 
living  members  of  his  bo:ly,  of  which  he  is  tlie  head.  It  is  the 
dark  and  horrid  doctrine  of  Calvin  and  his  followers  that  makes 
void  the  grace  of  Christ,  first  by  restricting  the  extension  of  his 
redemption  to  the  elect  only,  and  secondly,  by  denying  its  fructi- 
fying efficacy  in  the  works  of  the  just  man." 

"Granting,  for  argument's  sake,"  said  the  Bishop.  "what 
you  say  to  be  true,  still  the  Catholic  doctrine  of  the  communion 
of  good  works  and  merits  is  utterly  impious,  ana  quite  contrary 
to  God's  whole  method  of  salvation." 

"Why,  then,"  said  Monsignore  Guidi  with  energy,  "it  is 
utterly  impious  to  believe  'in  the  communion  of  Saints;'  whic'i, 
V  the  way,  Protestants  repeat  at  leas',  once  a  w!ck  in  the  Apes- 
lies'  Creed:  it  is  utterly  impious  then  to  believe  that  we  arc  ;:li 
members  of  the  same  mystical  body; — that  we  can  and  ought  to 
assist  one  another  in  our  spiritual  ;:s  well  as  cur  cmporal  ne- 
cessities. My  dear  good  Sir,  is  it  impious  in  ihe  Protestant  li> 
c>>k  the  prayers  of  the  man  whom  he  esteems  holy  1  But  tell 
ine,  do  the  Calvinists  never  pray  lor  one  another  1" 

"Certainly  thev  do."  replied  the  Bishop. 

"  Then,"  continued  Monsignore  Guidi,  "  bv  this  practice 
*  l  Cur.  xv.  10. 


FATHER  OSWALD.  245 

they  acknowledge  that  they  can  share  with  another  in  the  merits 
of  one  species  of  good  works.  Ir  this  they  are  qni'.e  scriptural. 
'  Pray  one  for  another,  that  yon  may  be  saved,  for  the  continual 
prayer  of  a  jus!,  man  availcth  much.'*  Now,  Catholics  see 
nothing  repugnant  to  common  sense,  to  piety,  or  to  Scripture,  in 
'jclicving  that  they  can  share  in  the  merits  of  other  good  works 
(.•!'  the  just  mail,  whether  they  be  fasting,  or  almsdceds,  taken  in 
their  mos*.  extensive  sense." 

i;  But  you  cannot  prove  that  from  Scripture,"  said  Mrs.  Boren 
peevishly. 

"Yes,  Madam,  I  can,"  answered  the  Prelate  quietly.  "St. 
Paul  entertained  that  opinion,  when  he  says  of  himself,  'Who 
now  rejoice  in  my  sufferings  fur  you,  and  fill  up  those  things 
that  are  wanting  of  the  sufferings  of  Christ  in  my  flesh  for  kin 
L-odii,  which  is  the  Church.'t  It  there  be  any  transferable  merits 
in  the  sufferings  of  Christ, — and  I  presume  no  one  will  be  so 
utterly  impious  as  to  deny  that, — surely  there  must  be  some  little 
also  in  the  sufferings  o!'  the  Apostle  in  the  flesh,  or  he  never 
would  have  rejoiced  in  being  able  to  add  his  mite  to  these  ines- 
timable treasures  which  are  dispensed  to  the  members  of  Christ's 
body.  The  Apostle  knew  well  that  if  his  sufferings  were  meri- 
torious and  satisfactory,  all  his  sufficiency  came  from  Christ.'' 

"My  poor  head  quite  aches,"  said  Mrs.  Boren,  yawning: 
"  what  between  the  fatigues  of  the  past  week,  and  all  this  serious 
disputing  at  the  end  of  it,  I  am  quite  worn  out ;  so  I  shall  wish 
you  all  a  very  good  night." 

"  The  discussion  was  your  own  seeking,  my  good  lady,"  said 
Monsignore  Guidi;  "but  it  is  time  I  was  off  also,"  added  he, 
looking  at  his  watch  ;  "  it  is  nearly  twelve  o'clock,  and  I  must 
be  at  ihe  Sistine  early  to-morrow.1' 

':  What  is  there  to  be  seen  to-morrow  morning  1"  asked  Sefton. 

"  To-morrow  will  be  Ash- Wednesday,  you  know,  and  the 
solemn  last  of  Lent  is  begun  by  sprinkling  ashes  on  the  head-- 
of  the  faith!'ul.  Tlvj  Pope  performs  this  ceremony  himself  in 
his  own  chapel,  and  gives  ashes  to  those  who  present  them- 
selves." 

"  I  should  like  to  accompany  you,"  said  Sefton ;  "  I  was  read 
ing  an  account  of  that  ancient  piece  of  Church  discipline  on!j 
the  other  day." 

The  p.irt"  broke  up.  and  the  next  morning  Sefton  accumpa 
died  Monsignore  Guidi  to  the  Sistine,  where  he  was  much  struck 
iiy  tc:e  exact  exemplification  of  the  account  he  had  a  lew  days 
.Before  been  reading  of  the  immemorial  practice  of  sprinkling 
ii^hes  on  the  heads  of  the  faithful  previous  to  their  comrnencins 
•  Jas.  v.  15  t  Col.  i.  24. 


IM6  FATHER  OSWALD. 

the  solemn  fast  of  forty  days,  called  Lent; — a  practice  t»o,  &, 
conformable  to  the  Bible,  and  which  is  specified  in  many  places 
of  the  Old  Testament  as  one  of  the  means  of  averting  the 
wrath  of  an  angry  God.  "  Did  not  the  men  of  Nineveh,"  said 
lie  to  himself, '•  do  penance  for  their  sins,  lasting  in  sackcloth 
and  ashes,  with  the  hope  that '  God  would  turn  away  from  hi? 
lierce  anger;'  "  '  And  God  saw  th  ir  miiks,  and  had  mercy  with 
regard  to  the  evil  which  he  had  said  he  would  do  to  them,  and 
lie  did  it  not.'  "  The  more  Edward  reflected,  the  less  he  could 
sec  any  good  reason  why  the  first  founders  of  Protestantism, 
had  thought  proper  to  depart  from  this  very  ancient  Christian 
practice.  He  mentioned  these  ideas  in  a  private  conversaticu 
with  the  Bishop,  who  only  shook  his  head,  and  told  him  laugh- 
ingly, that  he  would  find  Lent  mentioned  in  his  Protestant  pray- 
er-book, and  that  nobody  would  prevent  him  from  either  lasting 
or  sprinkling  his  head  with  ashes  if  he  pleased:  but  that  the 
founders  of  the  reformed  Church  were  too  considerate  to  Ibrce 
either  themselves  or  their  followers  to  such  unnecessary  penan- 
ces, though  they  made  no  law  forbidding;  people  to  do  penance,  if 
they  fancied  themselves  called  to  it.  Sefon  pondered  in  dis- 
content over  this  vague  and  unsatisfactory  explanation  ;  and  the 
more  he  thought,  the  more  lie  was  perplexed  by  the  inauv  glar- 
ing inconsistencies  of  Protestantism. 


CHAPTER    XX  XII. 

'  Do  not  as  some  ungracious  Pastors  do, 
Show  mo  the  slnep  and  thorny  way  to  Heaven, 
Whilst  like  a  puffed  and  reckless  libertine. 
Himself  Mie  primrose  path  of  dalliance  trends, 
And  recks  riot  his  own  creed.'' — SHAKSPEAUE. 

"HAVE  you  yet  seen  the  ordinations  in  St.  John  Lateran?" 
said  Monsignore  Guidi  one  day  to  Mrs.  Boren,  as  the  party 
were  walking  up  and  down  the  avenue  between  that  church  and 
St.  Croce  in  Gerusalemme. 

"  No,  Sir,"  answered  the  lady,  ''and  you  will  excuse  me  lor 
savin?  that  I  have  no  desire  to  see  them."  The  Prelate  smiled. 

"The  Roman  Catholic  priesthood,"  continued  Mrs.  Boren,  "  i& 
considered  by  liberal  Protestants  as  a  mere  human  ir.sti:ii;ion." 

"And  the  fact  is,"  retorted  Monsignoie  Guidi,  "  '..Vi  Pro"?si- 
ants  consider  or  imagine  many  absurd  things,  and  hiJiidlv  lie- 


FATHEK  OSWALD.  24* 

jerc  them.  The  question  is,  Did  Christ  institute  a  ministry  in 
His  Church,  or  did  He  notl  Did  He  constitute  '  ministers  and 
dispensers  of  the  mysteries  of  God  V  Did  He  '  give  some  apos- 
tles, and  some  prophets,  and  other  some  evangelists,  and  other 
some  pastors  and  doctors,  for  the  perfecting  of  the  saints,  for  the 
work  of  the  ministry,  for  the  edifying  of  the  body  of  Christ, 
until  we  all  meet  into  the  unity  of  the  faith  T«  Has  '  the  Holy 
Gnost  placed  bishops  over  the  whole  Hock  lo  rule  the  Church  of 
GoJ,'  or  has  He  notl  What  can  be  the  meaning  of  these  words, 
•  Obey  your  prelates,  and  be  subject  to  them  ;  for  they  watch, 
as  being  to  render  an  account  of  your  souls'  ?t  Now  if  there  he 
any  truth  in  these  and  many  other  explicit  passages  in  Holy 
Scripture,  then  undoubtedly  there  is  a  ministry  in  the  true  Church 
.•»('  Christ,  not  of  human  but  of  divine  institution:  we  shall  look 
in  vuin  for  it  elsewhere/' 

!:  You  do  not  surely  mean  to  insinuate,"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Boren 
indignantly,  "  that  you  Catholics  claim  a  divine  institution  in 
preference  to  the  reformed  Church  !'' 

"  Well,  will  you  tell  me,  Madam,"  replied  the  Prelate, 
•'  whence  your  husband  derives  his  authority  to  govern  a  portion 
of  the  flock  1" 

"  Oh  !  he  was  created  by  the  King,  who  has  supreme  author- 
ity in  the  state." 

"  Or  it  may  be  by  the  U,ueen,"  rejoined  Monsignore  Guidi, — 
with  a  keen  glance  towards  the  Bishop;  "in  either  case  you  are 
perfectly  right,  if  you  suppose  and  consider  your  ministry  as  a 
mere  human  institution." 

'•'  I  beg  your  pardon,  Monsignore,"  said  the  Bishop  with  pom- 
pous gravity ;  "  perhaps  Mrs.  Boren  has  not  expressed  herself 
sc  clearly  as  she  wished.  She  has  no  intention  to  assert  that 
the  clergy  of  the  Established  Church  have  no  spiritual,  or  if 
von  will,  no  divine  authority  in  virtue  of  their  ordinations;  she 
objects  only  to  the  cruel  and  tyrannical  system  of  oppression 
under  which  the  Romish  clergy  groan." 

" 1  must  beg  a  little  farther  explanation,  my  Lord,  "said  Mon- 
signore Guidi  quietly,  "or  I  may  perchance  mistake  your 
meaning,  as  much  as  you  say  I  have  done  that  of  your  lady." 

"  I  do  not  mean  to  be  personal,  Monsignore,"  answered  the 
Bishop;  "far  from  it;  for  there  are  many  bright  exceptions; 
amongst  others,  I  think  yourself;  but,  generally  speaking,  the 
system  of  the  Catholic  clergy  is  so  iniquitous,  that  I  am  lai 
from  wishing  to  see  more  of  them  ordained." 

"  I  do  not  understand  yet,"  said  Monsignore  Guidi  with  an 
feigned  surprise ;  "  how  do  you  mean  iniquitous  V 

*  Eph.jx-.  11  t  Heb.  xiii.  V 


BiS  FATHER  OSWALD. 

"Merely  to  mention  one  point,"  said  the  Bishop:  "Icon 
ceive  the  celibacy  of  the  clergy  to  be  an  iniquitous  system  ;  in 
direct  contradiction  to  the  Scriptural  injunction — '  increase  anil 
multiply.'  " 

"Really,  Sir.  you  aslonish  me!"  exclaimed  the  Prelate; — 
"  but  why  should  I  be  astonished  1"  added  lie  sorrowfully;  "  for 
hatred  to  celibacy  was  the  prime  motive  of  the  first  reformers. 
Good  God  !  what  an  example  of  impure  profligacy  is  exhibited 
in  the  lives  of  every  one  amongst  them  !  In  violation  of  the 
most  solemn  vows  of  chastity,  they  took  to  themselves  wives; 
and  Luther,  to  signalize  his  own  impiety  by  a  double  sacrilege, 
took  to  himself  a  professed  Nun." 

Sel'ton  coloured  and  looked  a  little  annoyed  :  but  the  Bishop, 
nothing  daunted,  said  with  an  air  of  haughty  assurance,  "  Well, 
Sir,  thai  was  the  consequence  of  the  false  and  corrupt  system  of 
trelinacy,  laying  commandments  and  rules  upon  men  which  it  is 
impossible  for  them  to  keep." 

'•'What  is  impossible  to  nature,  is  possible  to  grace,"  said 
Monsignore  Guidi.  "  No  one  will  deny  that  the  Apostles  were 
trail,  weak  men  like  ourselves,  yet  their  conduct  was  very  dif- 
ferent; they  left  every  thing,  even  their  wives,  [those  who  had 
wives.]  to  follow  Christ.*  St.  Paul,  giving  directions  to  Timo- 
thy for  the  careful  selection  of  men  fit  for  the  sacred  ministry, 
positively  requires  that  Bishops  and  Deacons,  and  of  course 
Priests,  should  be  chm,l.<-.$  and  consequently  the  state  of  celibacy 
is  the  liest  adapted  to  that  holy  office." 

"  Catholics  may  pretend  to  such  perfection,"  interposed  Mrs. 
Boren,  "  but  it  is  unattainable;  besides  being  a  most  unnatural 
system,  which  denies  to  the  minister  of  God  that  relation  to  any 
creature,  which  the  Divine  Being  has  marked  out  as  so  honour- 
able, by  constantly  appropriating  the  character  to  himself,  name- 
ly, that  of  Father." 

"Most  certainly,"  added  the  Bishop;  "  Mrs.  Borcn  has  no%v 
expressed  herself  admirably." 

"  Sel'ton  smiled,  and  glanced  with  rather  a  significant  expres- 
sion at  the  gaily  dressed  lady,  who  was  leaning  on  the  Bishop's 
arm. 

"  The  Caiholic  Church  forces  no  one  to  observe  celibacy.'' 
paid  Monsignore  Guidi;  "but,  following  the  counsel  of  th« 
Apostle,  as  long  as  she  can  fitid  men  able  and  willing  to  bind 
themselves  by  vow  to  that  mare  perfect  state,  she  will  ever  se- 
lect her  ministers  from  amongst  them.  The  Catholic  Church 
has  ever  considered  rnatrimonv  a.^  a  holy  and  honourable  stata, 
aiid  believes  it  to  have  been  exalted  by  Christ  10  the  sublime 
*  Matt,  xix  27— 2!>.  t  1  Tirn.  ii.  fj 


FATHER  OSWALD.  249 

fffgnity  ot  a  Sacrament;  hence,  she  respects  it  infinitely  more 
than  Protestants  do.  Yet  she  equally  holds  that  celibacy  is  a 
more  perfect,  a  more  holy,  a  more  sublime  state." 

"  It  is  easier  to  assert  than  to  prove,"  said  Mrs.  Boren. 

"Not  so,  my  good  lady,"  replied  the  Prelate  mildly;  "St. 
Paul  is  so  decided  on  this  point,  that  it  is  astonishing  any  Bible 
reader  should  have  ever  perused  the  seventh  chapter  of  his  first 
epistle  to  the  Corinthians,  and  entertain  a  doubt  upon  the  sub- 
ject. He  goes  a  great  deal  farther  than  Protestants  can  approve, 
when  he  says,  '  I  would  that  nil  men  were  even  as  mysell--! 
say  to  the  unmarried  and  to  the  widows,  it  is  good  for  them  ii 
they  so  continue  even  as  I.'  " 

"But  what  is  the  use,  and  end,  and  object  of  if?"  said  the 
Bishop  -impatiently. 

"  Many,  very  many,"  answered  Monsignore  quietly.  The 
Catholic  priest  considers  himself  wholly  devoted  to  the  service 
of  God  and  to  the  care  of  souls,  who  are  his  dearest  children  ; 
be  feels  himself  bound  on  all  occasions  to  sacrifice  his  ease,  his 
health,  his  life  for  them  ;  and  therefore  he  deems  it  indtspensa- 
D.'e,  that  he  should  not  be  distracted  from  those  sacred  duties,  by 
ihe  cares  and  anxieties  of  the  married  state." 

'•I  entirely  disagree  with  you,  Sir!"  exclaimed  the  Bishop 
warmly;  "  and  for  my  part,  I  should  prefer  presenting  any  liv- 
ing in  my  gift  to  a  minister  who  was  married,  rather  than  to  one 
who  was  unmarried." 

"  But,"  interposed  Monsignore  Guidi,  "listen  foi  one  moment 
to  St.  Paul:  'He  that  is  without  a  wife,  is  solicitous  for  the 
things  that  belong  to  the  Lord,  how  he  may  please  God.'  The 
Protestant  minister  prefers  the  marriage  state.  'Tis  well ;  'tfo 
better  so  than  worse.  Then  comes  '  the  tribulation  of  the  flesh  ; 
(he  paintul  anxiety  to  provide  for  his  wife  and  family,  who  de- 
pend upon  the  frail  tenure  of  his  life  for  their  present  and  future 
subsistence;  tithes  must  be  collected — rates  levied — dues  ex- 
acted— the  most  rigid  economy  practised — every  penny  spared 
— nothing  for  the  poor.  How  true  it  is,  ;  He  that  is  with  a  wife 
is  solicitous  for  the  things  of  the  world,  how  he  may  please  his 
wife  ;  and  he  is  divided.'  So  let  him  :  his  state  is  not  aa  envi- 
able one,  to  me  at  least." 

"  Really  this  is  too  much!"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Boren  angrily : 
''  it  is  all  envy." 

Sefton  laughed  outright.  "  Remember,  my  dear  Mrs.  Borf  it, 
present  company  is  always  excepted,"  said  he:  "  will  you  like 
to  get  into  the  carriage,  for  you  seem  a  little  fatigued.  The 
lady  suffered  herself  to  be  led  to  her  carriage,  but  not  before  she 
had  darted  another  indignant  glance  at  the  unconscious 
•ignore  Guidi.  22 


250  FATHER  OSWALD. 

As  the  carriage  with  Mrs.  Borcn  and  her  party  drove  off',  the 
Prelate  said  to  Sefton,  li  I  have  been  told  that  your  own  laws 
and  customs  consider  the  wives  of  Bishops  and  Clergyman  in  n 
very  equivocal  light ;  I  have  even  heard  that  their  children  are 
:bard!y  considered  legitimate." 

"  Certainly,"  replied  Sefton,  "our  laws  and  customs  are  very 
.ambiguous  on  that  question,  and  they  must  appear  odd  to  for- 
eigners; for  while  a  simple  knight  confers  title  and  precedence 
on  his  lady,  a  Bishop  can  confer  neither  one  nor  the  other  on 
liis  wife  :  as  for  the  legitimacy  of  their  offspring,  we  must  leave 
.•that  question  to  be  inooted  by  the  lawyers.  But  when  will  these 
•Mdinations  you  were  speaking  of  take  place  '!" 

"  .Next  Saturday ;  and  we  will  go  to  St.  John's  on  that  day,  if 
yon  please." 

:Sei'ton  willingly  agreed  to  this  arrangement  and  found  him- 
*elf.  early  in  the  morning  of  the  appointed  day,  in  St.  John 
.Lateran,  one  of  the  most  venerable  and  ancient  churches  in  the 
world.  He  was  forcibly  struck  at  the  imposing  spectacle  before 
him;  the  bright  rays  of  the  rising  sun  shone  through  the  edi- 
ifece,  the  choir  of  which  was  then  filled  by  a  crowd  of  young  as- 
pirants for  holy  orders,  from  the  child  of  eight  years  to  the  young 
•man  of  twenty-four.  There,  amongst  them,  sat  the  Cardinal 
Vicar  of  Rome,  eminent  alike  for  his  piety  and  learning,  ready 
•to  ordain  those  who  presented  themselves,  and  evidently  absorbed 
by  the  importance  of  the  duty  in  which  he  was  engaged.  As 
.Sefton  gassed  '<an  the  scene,  it  brought  to  his  mind,  as  in  a  picture, 
all  he  had  ever  read  in  Church  history  of  the  ordinations  in  the 
•time  of  St.  Augustine,  and  in  the  records  he  had  perused  of  still 
•earlier  periods  of  Christianity.  '•'  In  those  days,  it  was  Catho- 
lics," thought  he,  "  that  were  ordained;  Catholics,  too,  who  ac- 
knowledged the  supremacy  of  the  Pope ;  and  this,  too,  is  an 
•ordination  of  Catholic  ministers  which  I  seo  now  before  my 
.eyes,  and,  as  far  as  I  can  make  out,  differing  in  nothing  in  faith 
-and  practice  from  the  first  Christians.  Surely  it  is  more  proba- 
<ble,  even  humanly  speaking,  that  the  truth  is  with  those  who 
<have  not  departed  from  the  faith  and  practice  of  the  Apostles, 
.rather  than  amongst  the  Protestant  and  dissenting  Ministers, 
who  separated  themselves  but  a  few  hundred  years  ago  from  the 
Ti.-st  of  the  Christian  world,  without  any  distinct  authority  from 
tiod  for  so  doing:  leaving  out,  or  quite  changingso  many  points 
«f  faith  and  discipline  which  the  first  Christians  be.ieved  and 
practised,  and  which,  as  far  as  I  can  see  and  understand.  Catho- 
.ics  still  continue  to  believe  and  practise."  These  reflections 
.made  Sefton  feel  very  melancholy ;  for  it  is  a  singular  fact,  that 
every  haretic  in  the  progress  of  arriving  at  the  truth,  feels  th' 


FATHER  OSWALD.  251 

greatest  repugnance  to  making  an  ad  of  fail  k  upon  any  point 
of  Catholic  doctrine,  however  clearly  his  judgment  may  be  con- 
vinced on  ihc  subject.  Should  he.  however,  be  once  induced  iu 
all  sincerity  to  make  an  act  of  faith  on  the  authority  vested  in 
the  Catholic  Church,  to  decide  on  what  it  is  necessary  to  believe 
in  order  to  possess  elernal  life,  all  his  repugnance,  all  his  per- 
plexities, all  his  melancholy  and  uneasiness  will  instantly  van- 
ish ;  the  mind  of  such  a  person  becomes  in  an  instant  as  diner- 
en,  as  the  light  at  noon  2nd  the  darkness  at  midnight.  It  is  as 
necessary  to  make  an  act  of  faith  to  attain  eternal  life,  as  it  is 
to  mike  an  act  of  charity;  faith,  like  any  other  virtue,  will  lie 
dormant,  or  dead,  unless  brought  into  vigour  and  life  by  a  deci- 
ded £ct  of  the  will.  There  >s  a  wide  difference  between  saving, 
as  so  many  liall-converied  Protestants  do,  "  /  wish.  I  could  be- 
lieve; I  try  to  believe,  and  I  can't  believe,"  and — saying  gene- 
rously and  nobly.  '•  I  iloLdiiTc  in  God  and  in  the  Church  which 
Jesus  Christ  left  on  earth  to  leech  me  all  truth."  People  who 
lead  wicked  lives  often  sigh  and  think, I:  /  icifh  I  could  love 
God,"  but  they  know  full  well,  that  they  never  will  enjoy  God 
in  Heaven,  unless  they  say  on  earth,  "  /  do  luxe  God  wjth  ell 
mv  heart."  and  practise  this  act  of  charity,  too,  by  keeping  His 
commandments.  So  it  is  with  the  virtue  of  faiih ;  beiore  we 
can  attain  eternal  liie.  we  must  make  an  net  nf  failli  and  prac- 
tise it  too,  by  believing  all  thos^  things  which  are  taught  as  ne- 
cessary to  salvation  by  the  Church  which  Jesus  Christ  planted 
on  earth,  and  in  which  He  left  the  deposit  of  frith  to  be  preserved 
pure  and  unchanged  to  the  end  of  time.  There  ?.re  hundreds 
and  thousands  cf  Protestants  who,  in  their  search  after  truth, 
reach  the  same  state  of  mind  as  Sefton :  they  have  seen  too 
much  and  they  know  too  much  to  plead  ignorance  as  an  excuse 
for  remaining  in  error,  and  yet  they  either  draw  back  altogether, 
and  wilfully  shut  their  eyes  to  the  light;  or  they  remain  in  a 
state  of  doubt  and  vacillation,  the  misery  of  which  no  tongue 
can  describe.  Now,  what  can  be  the  reasons  for  this  1  Alas,  it 
is  unnecessary  to  name  them;  sloth  in  some,  indifference  in 
others,  but  in  by  far  the  most  predominant  r.umber,  human  ic- 
fpcct — the  fear  of  offending  relations  anct  friends — the  appre- 
hension of  what  the  world  will  say  and  think — the  wtnt  nl 
courage  to  bear  the  reproaches  and  persecutions  of  hose  nearest 
and  dearest  to  them.  There  is  but  one  slight  thread  which  keeps 
them  from  peace  and  happiness,  and  they  will  not  or  dare  not 

snap  it And  yet  what  are  all  the  sufferings  and  trials  ot 

this  short  life  to  the  unspeakable  glory  of  an  endless  eternity, 
"  What  will  it  avail  a  man  if  he  gain  the  whole  world  and  la~e 


358  FATHER  OSWALD. 

his  mnn  soul  ?"*  Let  persons  who  have  arrived  at  that  state 
never  cease  praying  and  entreating  their  Creator  to  lead  them 
to  the  truth,  and  to  give  them  the  courage  necessary  to  overcome 
whatever  obstacle  it  is  which  keeps  them  from  'peace  in  this 
world  and  happiness  in  the  next ;  let  them  continually  meditatt 
on  the  two  important  texts  of  Scripture,  "  Fear  not  them  tha 
kill  the  body  and  are  not  able  to  kill  the  soul ;  but  rather  feai 
him  that  can  destroy  both  body  and  soul  in  Hell  ;"t  ana 
that  wherein  St.  Paul  declares,  that  there  is  but  "one  Lord,  ont 
t'aitli,  and  one  baptism.":  Let  them  do  this,  and  God,  who  i* 
faithful  and  compassionate  to  all  our  miseries,  will  not  delay  ta 
encourage  and  console  such  souls,  and  conduct  them  to  the  brigh 
*eahns  of  eternal  truth,  where  all  is  peace,  and  joy,  and  inefta 
oie  glory,  through  an  endless  eternity  of  love  and  bliss. 


CHAPTER    XXXII  I. 

••  Now,  on  my  faith,  this  gear  is  all  entangled, 
Like  to  the  yarn  clew  of  the  drowsy  knitter. 
Draped  by  the  Irolic  kitten  through  the  rahin. 
While  the  good  darne  sits  nodding  o'er  the  fire  : 
Blasters  attend  ;  'twill  crave  some  skill  to  clear  it." 

SCOTT. 

ONE  dav,  about  the  beginning  of  March,  induced  by  the 
nalmy  mildness  of  the  opening  Spring,  the  Bishop  and  his  party- 
accompanied  by  Sefton,  set  off  with  the  intention  of  spending  a 
few  days  at  Albano,  for  the  purpose  of  seeing  Monte  Cani  and 
Grottaferrata,  the  Bishop  and  the  ladies  in  an  open  barouche, 
and  Sefton  and  the  Captain  on  horseback  ;  the  extreme  mildness 
of  ihe  weather,  and  the  pleasure  of  feeling  themselves  in  the 
open  country  and  cheering  sunbeams,  tempted  them  to  extend 
their  excursion  as  far  as  Velletri  and  Cori.  The  party  were 
extremely  pleased  with  the  fine  scenery  about  the  ancient  and 
interesting  town  of  Velletri,  and  still  more  so  with  their  excur- 
sion to  Cori,  the  road  to  which,  winds  through  rich  vineyards 
and  majestic  mountain  scenery  the  whole  way  to  the  steep  emi- 
nence which  it  crowns.  The  peasants,  in  their  picturesque 
costumes,  were  all  engaged  in  the  cheerful  husbandry  of  early 
Spring: — lightened  by  the  hopes  of  future  harvests,  and  enli- 
vened by  the  gay  carols  of  the  lark  winging  his  dizzy  height  in 
*  Matt.  xvi.  2e  t  Matt.  s.  29.  t  Eph.  iv.  5 


KATHER  OSWALD.  853 

the  joyous  sunbeams.  At  Cori  the  pa.'.y  ascended  its  steep  and 
fatiguing  streets,  till  they  readied  the  acclivity  on  which  stands 
the  portico  of  a  temple,  in  days  of  yore  dedicated  to  Hercules ; 
and  still  in  a  state  of  perfect  preservation.  From  the  site  of 
this  antique  edifice  the  prospect  from  horizon  to  horizon  is  ex- 
quisite. In  their  descent,  thev  examined  the  remaining  columns 
of  a  temple  of  Castor  and  Pollux,  \vith  those  of  an  ancient 
bridge,  and  some  remnants  of  Cyclopian  walls.  As  the  Bishop 
thought  it  advisable  to  take  a  cold  luncheon  before  leaving  Cori, 
it  was  rather  late  ere  they  were  again  en  rnnie.  The  Captain 
and  Selton  had  brought  guns  with  them  to  have  a  little  shooting 
on  the  way  back  to  Velletri,  and  accordingly  lagged  behind  the 
rest  of  the  parly  to  have  more  chance  of  starting  birds.  They 
stopped  at  a  mountain  pass,  where  many  trees  had  lately  been 
cut  down  near  the  road,  though  deep  and  dark  woods  extended 
foi  miles  along  the  ascent  towards  Cori,  and  the  naked  and 
sharp-pointed  rock  Massimo.  The  underwood  around  had  been 
all  burnt,  and  the  black  and  scorched  herbage  testified  that  many 
months  had  not  elapsed  since  this  work  of  destruction  had  been 
effected. 

"  What  is  the  reason  that  all  this  fine  wood  has  been  de- 
stroyed, I  wonder  1"  said  Sefton  to  his  companion. 

"  On  account  of  the  banditti,"  answered  the  Captain ;  "  there 
was  a  desperate  gang  not  long  ago  in  these  mountain  holds." 

"  Upon  my  honour,  then,"  said  Sefton,  "  1  think  if  that  is  the 
case,  it  is  rather  foolish  in  us  to  be  here  at  this  time  in  the 
evening." 

"  Oh  !  there  is  no  fear  now;  besides,  the  sun  is  not  yet  down, 
I  believe.  But  silence  !  Sefton.  I  hear  a  rustling.  Now  ibr  a 
good  shot !" 

A  rustling  indeed  there  was,  and  in  the  twinkling  of  an  eye 
they  were  surrounded  by  a  troop  of  armed  bandits. 

"  Down  to  the  ground !  your  money  or  your  lives !  your 
money  or  your  lives!"  resounded  from  every  mouth. 

"  A  sharp  scuffle  ensued ;  the  Captain  attempted  to  fire,  and 
in  the  struggle  his  gun  went  off:  this  occasioned  a  momentary 
confusion  amongst  the  bandits,  which  enabled  the  Captain  to 
reach  his  horse: — he  was  in  the  saddle  in  a  moment,  and,  hal- 
looing to  Sefton  to  follow  him  and  not  to  surrender,  clapped 
spurs  to  his  steed,  and  over  hill  and  dale,  through  the  whizzing 
of  shot  sent  after  him,  in  a  few  minutes  was  in  the  high  road  to 
rouse  the  nearest  help  and  return  to  the  rescue  of  his  (riend. 
The  Captain  did  indeed  return  with  a  strong  detachment  of 
soldiers,  but  too  late  to  effect  the  rescue  of  his  friend.  So  con- 
tentedly giving  up  farther  pursuit,  he  returned  with  the  news  o! 
his  ill  success  k>  Rome.  $2* 


334  FATHER  OSWALD. 

In  the  meantime  Sefton,  undismayed  by  the  desertion  of  his 
companion,  made  a  desperate  resistance,  but  his  gun  was  soon 
wrenched  from  him;  then,  closing  with  his  antagonist,  he  strug- 
gled fiercely  with  him  for  a  time,  until  both  fell  together  on  the 
ground.  Sefton  grasped  at  the  villain's  throat  as  he  lay  beneath 
him,  and  was  on  the  point  of  suffocating  him,  when  the  assassin 
drew  from  his  belt  a  stiletto  and  aimed  a  murderous  blow  at  the 
breast  of  Sefton  ;  the  point  of  the  poinard  struck  against  the 
medal  of  Our  Lady  which  he  had  hanging  round  his  neck,  and 
thus  his  life  was  saved :  the  bandit  raised  the  stiletto  to  repeat 
the  stroke,  but  his  arm  was  arrested  by  another  of  the  gang, 
who  bade  him  "  hold,  for  the  life  of  the  prisoner  might  be  worth 
a  ransom."  Sefton  let  go  his  grasp  from  the  ruffian's  throat,  and 
they  both  rose  to  their  feet,  but  Sefton  was  instantly  overpowered 
by  numbers  ;  he  was  stripped  of  his  watch  and  money,  his  arms 
pinioned  behind  him,  arid  rapidly  hurried  into  the  depth  of  the 
thick  lorest.  The  bandits  were  well  aware,  that  in  consequence 
of  the  escape  of  their  other  victim,  the  neighbourhood  would 
soon  be  roused,  and  that  a  hot  pursuit  would  succeed.  In 
vain  did  Sefton  entreat  to  be  released  ;  in  vain  did  he  promise 
not  to  betray  their  haunt;  in  vain  did  he  offer  them  rewards, 
and  voluntarily  resign  all  right  to  his  watch  and  money. 

"  Be  silent,  sirrah!"  commanded  the  chief  of  the  gang,  "  01 
it  will  be  worse  for  you  ;  a  rare  bird  cannot  be  released  without 
a  rare  ransom."  To  enforce  his  order,  he  drew  a  pistol,  and 
threatened  Sefton  with  instant  death  if  he  disobeyed. 

The  captain  of  the  band  was  a  handsome  bold-looking  man, 
about  thirty,  with  eyes  like  those  of  an  eagle.  Having  passed 
the  forest,  they  rapidly  dashed  up  a  chasm  formed  between  two 
high,  inaccessible,  and  bleak  rocks:  about  the  middle  of  this 
pass  they  suddenly  stopped,  and  forcing  Sefton  through  a  crevice 
in  the  rock  just  wide  enough  for  one  man  at  a  time  to  pass,  they 
made  him  turn  to  the  left,  and  hurried  him  wilh  painful  velocity 
through  a  dark  winding  passage,  and  then,  after  another  sharp 
turn,  dropped  him  into  a  deep  den  :  where  tailing  with  violence 
on  the  ground,  he  lay  stunned  for  some  time,  and  only  con- 
fusedly sensible  to  the  sound  of  the  retiring  footsteps  of  the 
bandits,  as  they  left  with  hurrying  feet  this  dismal  and  loathsome 
prison. 

The  violence  of  the  fall  had  burst  asunder  the  cords  which 
bound  his  arms,  and  when  he  could  rise  from  the  ground,  he 
was  enabled  to  grope  along  the  walls  and  floor  of  his  cave, 
where  not  ihe  slightest  ray  of  light  penetrated :  from  the  violence 
of  his  tall,  he  supposed  it  must  be  many  feet  deep.  Awe,  terror, 
anguish,  a  thousand  terrible  ideas  rushed  through  his  mind:- 


FATIIKR  OSWALD.  2T)5 

'  would  the  rebbere  return,  or  would  they  leave  him  there  to  die 
the  lingering,  torturing,  cruel  death  of  famine,  for  from  his  wile, 
his  children,  his  country,  unheeded  and  unknown?"  As  hour 
succeeded  hour,  with  what  eagerness  did  he  not  listen  for  the 
slightest  sound  !  but  all  around  him  was  as  silent  as  the  grave ; 
he  had  n^  means  of  calculating  how  long  it  was  he  struggled 
with  this  almost  frenzied  stale  of  excitement;  nature  was  at 
length  exhausted,  and  he  sunk  into  a  profound  sleep.  When 
Beftoa  awoke  he  knew  not  where  he  was,  and  it  was  long  ere 
he  could  distinctly  retrace  in  his  remembrance  the  events  of  the 
preceding  day,  and  the  anguish  which  accompanied  each  Jink 
of  this  recollection  was  most  poignant ;  by  this  time,  he  began 
to  feel  the  pain  of  hunger:  he  roused  himself,  and  determined 
togrope  round  every  part  of  the  prison  within  his  reach,  but  all 
his  erlorts  to  find  any  crevice  or  appearance  of  exit  were  in 
vain;  he  called  aloud  to  the  utmost  extent  of  his  voice,  but  it 
fell  back  unanswered  within  the  damp  walls  of  the  dungeon. 
In  his  efforts,  he  stumbled  over  something  on  the  ground,  and 
after  carefully  feeling  it,  the  horrid  conviction  Hashed  on  his 
mind  that  it  was  a  human  skeleton  :  he  hastened  as  far  as  he 
could  from  this  fearful  proof  of  the  crimes  and  cruelties  of  the 
bandits;  he  sunk  on  the  ground  from  inanition  and  terror,  and, 
•Hasping  his  trembling  hands  together,  made  a  fervent  prayer  to 
God  to  deliver  him  from  this  dreadful  place,  and  from  the  hor- 
rors of  so  lingering  and  frightful  a  death.  How  fervently  did 
he  at  that  moment  promise  to  serve  God  with  all  his  heart,  how 
sincerely  did  he  resolve  to  do  justice  to  his  poor  persecuted 
Emma,  and  what  remorse  did  he  not  feel  for  his  conduct  towards 
her!  The  interests  of  his  immortal  soul  then  rose  before  him 
in  all  the  reality  of  their  terrifying  importance.  He  had  no 
faith  whereon  to  rely ;  he  had  long  since  been  convince;!  tha* 
the  doctrines  of  the  Established  Church  in  which  he  had  been 
educate;!,  were  in  great  part  false;  he  had  felt  the  truth  of  most 
of  the  Catholic  doctrines,  and  he  groaned  bitterly  in  spirit,  that 
he  had  so  long  delayed  to  clear  up  his  few  remaining  doubts. 
Why  had  he  shut  his  eyes  to  the  light  that  God  had  sent  him  1 
Had  God  punished  him  thus  for  the  neglect  of  his  graces'? 
Was  he  doomed  to  die  thus  in  his  sins  and  in  despair  1 

"  God  of  mercy."  he  exclaimed,  "  1  am  unworthy  to  call  Thee 
Father,  yet  I  am  Thy  creature,  the  work  of  Thy  hands.  Oh  ! 
cast  me  not  from  Thee  for  ever  !  Rather  look  upon  Thy  beloved 
Son,  and  let  his  bleeding  wounds  plead  in  my  behalf.  Too  long 
I  have  hardened  my  heart  to  the  voice  of  Thy  mercy  ;  but  Thou, 
my  God,  wilt  not  despise  the  humbled  and  contrite  heart."  He 
felt  in  his  bosom  for  the  portrait  of  Emma;  that  he  might  kiss  it 


256  FATHER  OSWALD. 

for  the  last  time,  and  take  a  last  and  long  tareweh  \  \\\  TMT,  IH 
her  image.  But  the  portrait  was  gone:  and  he  he  i,t\  j-.VJ-l  in 
frenzied  despair.  He  found,  however,  the  medal  u  i.V  L'.twed 
Virgin,  the  only  property  which  the  bandits  had  re^x'/d.  Hf 
kissed  the  medal,  as  the  providential  means  which  iuid  sa'Ml 
his  life  from  the  dagger  of  an  assassin,  and  at  the  same  inointvj 
the  parting  words  of  Sister  Angela  flashed  on  his  remembrance. 
They  seemed  to  him  to  be  the  prophetic  warning  of  a  pure  and 
superhuman  being — one  surely  inspired  by  an  ever-watchful 
providence.  "  Twice  do  I  owe  my  life  to  Ihee,  angelic  maiden. 
Thou  badest  me  invoke  the  Virgin,  Mother  of  my  Redeemer; 
in  all  my  troubles  and  afflictions.  I  cannot  do  wrong  in  obey- 
ing thy  injunctions."  He  clasped  the  medal  beiween  his  hands, 
and  bowing  down  with  profound  humility  and  with  an  incipient 
faith  and  hope  that  he  might  be  heard,  he  thus  prayed :  "  Virgin, 
Mother  of  rny  Redeemer,  if  it  be  true,  as  I  am  told,  that  thou 
hast  often  obtained  unexpected  relief  to  the  poor  and  to  the  af- 
flicted, show  now  the  power  of  thy  intercession  with  thy  divine 
Son,  and  succour  me  in  this  my  utter  distress.1'  Sefton  had 
scarcely  finished  his  prayer,  when  he  found  his  heart  relieved, 
and  an  undefinable  ray  of  hope  shot  across  his  mind.  From 
that  moment  he  took  a  firm  determination  that  no  pride — no 
human  respect  should  hinder  him  from  embracing  the  true, 
religion  the  moment  he  was  satisfied  where  it  existed.  By  de- 
grees, however,  his  strength  became  weaker  and  weaker;  he 
suffered  acutely  from  famine,  and  gradually  became  entirely 
senseless  and  unable  to  move.  After  remaining  several  days 
in  this  state,  though  he  had  no  idea  of  the  space  of  time  elapsed, 
it  seemed  to  him,  as  though  in  a  painful  dream,  that  he  behelc1 
a  light  over  his  head,  and  heard  the  murmur  of  voices,  and 
thought  he  beheld  a  ladder  of  rope  let  down  into  his  dungeon, 
and  a  Capuchin  with  a  Ion?  white  beard  descend  the  ladder,  and 
approach  towards  him.  His  weakness  was  so  great,  he  seemed 
to  wish  the  dream  would  pass,  and  that  his  insensibility  would 
return;  but  the  dream  did  not  pass:  for  it  was  no  dream,  but 
really  and  truly  Father  Guiseppe,  who,  now  leaning  over  Sefton, 
with  the  tenderest  compassion,  endeavoured  to  force  some  wine 
down  his  throat;  after  a  few  minutes  he  succeeded,  and  by  de- 
grees Seftou  began  to  be  sensible  of  the  reality  of  what  was; 
going  on  around  him. 

"  O  my  God !"  exclaimed  Father  Guiseppe,  clasping  his 
hands,  "  and  this  is  the  horrid  work  of  your  reckless,  wretched 
companions !" 

The  person  he  addressed  was  a  young  bandit,  who  was  lean- 
ing ever  the  mouth  of  the  dungeon,  and  holding  the  top  01 


FATHER  OSWALD.  '267 

the  rope-ladder  and  a  dark  lantern,  which  cast  a  fitful  light  into 
the  gloomy  abode  below. 

"Come^  come.  Father,  none  of  your  reproaches,"  answered 
he,  "for  you  are  now  in  my  power;  if  I  draw  up  the  ladder  I 
can  leave  you  to  share  his  fate,  and  never  would  any  one  be  the 
wiser :  but  you  see  I  have  a  spark  of  conscience  left,  or  I  should 
not  have  brought  you  here  to  give  the  poor  wretch's  soul  a  last 
chance.  I  marvel  much  he  is  alive." 

"  Peace,  peace,  my  son,"  said  the  Father  quietly,  "  add  not  to 
j-our  weight  of  guilt' by  taking  my  life,  but  fix  the  ladder  firmly, 
and  extend  your  arras  to  draw  this  poor  victim  up  by  means  ot 
my  cloak." 

The  bandit  did  as  he  was  ordered,  and,  after  some  difficulty, 
Seiton  was  extracted  from  the  dungeon,  and  dragged  by  him 
and  the  Capuchin  along  the  intricate  and  narrow  turnings 
through  which  he  had  been  conducted  to  it  The  influence  of 
the  open  air,  and  a  little  nourishment  given  sparingly  and  at 
intervals,  soon  revived  him  sufficiently  to  enable  them  to  bind 
nim  firmly  on  a  stout  horse.  It  was  a  fine  moonlight  evening, 
and  all  nature  still  around  them  ;  but  Sefton's  heart  anxiously 
beat  to  know  what  was  now  to  be  his  fate,  and  he  was  still 
more  appalled  on  hearing  Father  Guiseppe  take  leave  of  the 
bandit,  and  commend  Sefton  to  his  care  and  fidelity  on  his  route. 
"  Good  God '"  thought  he,  "  can  this  friar  be  in  league  with  the 
robbers  !  how  horrible  !  what  hypocrisy  under  a  religious  habit !'" 
in  a  weak  and  scarcely  articulate  voice,  he  appealed  to  Father 
Guiseppe  not  to  forsake  him. 

"  Be  at  peace,  my  son,"  answered  he,  leaning  over  him,  and 
he  added  in  a  low  whisper,  ':all  will  yet  go  well.  I  will  tint 
f»rtakc  you,  and  you  will  yet,  I  hope,  live  to  show  your  gratitude 
to  God  lor  this  deliverance,  by  loving  Him  with  all  your  heart, 
and  soul,  and  rnind,  in  the  one  true  faith." 

Sefton  felt  a  compunctious  regret  that  he  had  not  yet  thanked 
God  for  his  deliverance  from  the  dungeon. 

"  I  do  thank  my  God  most  fervently,"  said  he;  "  but  why  am 
I  to  go  with  that  wretch  V  added  he  feebly. 

"  Because  he  must  conduct  you  to  his  Captain ;  too  muck 
bloodshed  and  crime  would  lie  the  consequence  ot'  his  disobe- 
dience; he  has  staked  much  to  bring  me  to  you;  trust  in  God, 
and  all  will  go  right.  Holy  Mary  and  St.  Francis  guide  you 
safely  on  your  way !" 

The  name  of  Marv  brought  to  the  mind  of  Sefton  the  prayer 
he  had  made  to  the  Virgin  at  a  moment  when  all  human  ho|>e 
of  succour  seemed  to  have  been  lost  for  ever,  and  he  thought 
vrilhin  himself,  "May  I  not  owe  my  deliverance  to  herT  A 


'258  FATHER  OSWALD. 

Catholic  \7ouiJ  not  hesitate  to  attribute  the  boon  to  her  inter- 
cession, and  why  should  I  doubt  it?  It'  the  prayer  of  the  jusl 
man  availcth  much,  surely  the  prayer  of  the  "Virgin  Mother  o! 
Jesus  must  be  all-powerful.1'  He  breathed  a  heartfelt  prayer  ol 
thanksgiving  to  the  Mother  of  Mercy,  and  with  increased  con- 
fidence commended  himself  to  her  protection,  that  she  would 
finish  the  good  work  she  had  so  graciously  begun  in  his  behalf. 
But  why  he  was  again  to  be  consigned  to  bondage  was  all  a 
mystery  to  Seflon,  and  the  impatient  voice  of  the  bandit  pre- 
vented any  further  discourse  with  Father  Guiseppe,  and  they 
separated  ;  the  good  religious  taking  his  way  towards  his  convent 
near  Velietri,  and  the  bandit,  mounted  and  armed,  conducting 
Sefton  and  his  horse  rapidly  on  towards  the  wilds  of'Tusculum. 
They  passed  under  Monte  Cuvi.  and  along  Hannibal's  camp, 
reposing  in  the  broad  moon-beams,  ere  a  syllable  was  exchanged 
between  them;  but  as  they  approached  nearer  to  Tusculum, 
winding  amid  bleak  and  barren  scenery,  the  bandit  suddenly 
turning  round,  and  striking  his  hand  on  his  pistol,  "Hark  ye  ! 
young  Englishman,"  said  he,  "  it  is  as  much  as  your  life  is 
worth  to  tell  yonder  crew  that  you  have  seen  the  Capuchin.  Do 
you  undersland  me  1" 

Sefton  had  no  alternative,  but  to  promise  obedience. 

"  My  name  is Rinaldo,"  continued  the  bandit,  " and  lam  next 
in  command  to  the  Captain;  he  sent  me  to  bring  you  bajk  to 
him  for  the  sake  of  the  ransom,  and  I  left  a  dear  pledge  for  my 
fidelity.  He  is  a  hard  man  ;  but  f,  who  like  not  the  life  over 
well,  out  of  compassion  for  your  soul,  brought  the  Father,  think- 
ing you  might  be  at  the  last  gasp,  and  want  shriving  of  your 
heresies." 

Sefton  groaned  internally,  and  marvelled  much  at  the  odd 
mixture  of  good  and  bad  in  his  strange  companion. 

"  The  Captain  is  so  suspicious,"  continued  the  bandit,  "  that 
if  he  knew  of  the  Capuchin,  he  would  shoot  me  on  the  spot." 

Sefton  reiterated  his  promise  of  silence,  and  shortly  after- 
wards they  arrived  at  the  haunt  of  the  bandits  in  the  wilds  of 
Tusculuni.  There  is  a  spot,  now  shown  as  Cicero's  school,  rind 
just  below  it  extends  a  vale,  which  reminds  one  of  the  poet's 
description  of  the  vale  of  Paradise.  It  was  at  that  moment  lit 
up  by  the  silvery  softness  of  the  placid  moon  ;  and  Sefton  gazed 
iu  admiration  at  the  superb  forest  scenery  which,  on  either  side, 
fringed  this  lovely  valley,  as  it  gradually  expanded  and  dis- 
closed in  its  lengthening  vista  the  little  town  of  Frascati,  sleep- 
ing in  the  silence  of  night;  the  ruined  remains  of  Monte  Dra- 
gone,  and  the  villa  Rufma,  embosomed  in  deep  woods,  and  re- 
posing in  the  moon-beams,  and  far,  iar  beyond,  the  broad  and 


FATHER  OSWALD.  25U 

rich  Campaffiiia,  with  all  its  soft,  peculiar  features,  Hounded 
only  by  the  waters  of  the  blue  ocean,  reflecting  on  its  tranquil 
wave  the  refulgent  queen  of  night.  A  few  yards  below  Cicero's 
school,  is  a  circula.  clump  of  rich  garden  roses,  mingled  with 
the  yellow  broom,  growing  over  a  slight  hollow  on  the  green 
:urf  of  a  few  yards'  extent.  This  hollow  concealed  the  entrance 
•-o  the  bandits'  caves,  which  extended  far  underground,  and  had 
probably  once  formed  the  substruction  of  some  Roman  villa, 
and  into  which  Scl'ton  was  soon  introduced  by  his  companion 
Rinnldo.  while  the  bandits  were  still  carousing. 

"•Ha!"  exclaimed  the  Captain,  starting  up;  "  Rinaldo,  my 
good  fellow,  arc  you  returned,  and  with  our  captive  alive  "~" 

"  I  have  done  your  bidding."  answered  Rinaldo  sulkily ; 
"there's  the  Englishman:  now,  where  is  Vincenzal  are  she 
and  the  boy  well  V'  added  he  hastily. 

"  They  are  where  you  left  them,"  replied  the  Captain  haugh- 
lily ;  ugo  and  satisfy  yourself." 

Rinaldo  entered  into  an  inner  cave,  and  in  a  few  minutes  re- 
turned apparently  satisfied ;  then  holding  out -his  hand  to  the 
Captain,  "  Come,"  said  he,  "  we  are  friends  again  ;  give  me  food 
and  drink,  for  I  have  not  had  a  bit  or  sup  since  we  parted  ;  but 
first  you  must  attend  to  the  prisoner,  or  you'll  be  likely  to  get 
small  ransom  for  a  dead  body." 

The  Captain  drew  near  to  examine  Sefton,and  even  his  fierce 
and  stern  features  relented  when  he  saw  the  pale  emaciated  face 
of  his  prisoner  :  he  gave  a  low  whistle,  and  a  miserable  look- 
ing, hideous  beldam  stood  before  him.  "  Here,  Macrina,"  said 
lie.  "attend  to  this  poor  wretch,  and  see  him  fed,  and  put  to 
repose." 

"And  see  you  do  not  overfeed  him.  you  old  hag!"  exclaimed 
Rinaldo ;  "  to-night  is  the  first  time  lie  has  tasted  food  for  many 
days !" 

The  old  woman  obeyed,  and  SeRon  was  soon  comfortably 
enough  laid  on  a  mattrass  and  covered  with  warm  cloaks;  but 
he  could  not  sleep,  for  the  bandits  seemed  to  think  that  the  ar- 
rival of  Rinaldo  was  a  sufficient  excuse  for  prolonging  their 
revels.  From  their  conversation,  he  soon  gathered  that  they 
had  sent,  by  a  shepherd  boy,  to  Rome,  to  demand  a  high  ransom 
for  his  safe  restoration,  accompanied  in  case  of  refusal  by  threats 
of  inflicting  immediate  death:  he  found  also  that  the  Captain 
and  a  detachment  were  to  set  off  on  the  morrow  for  the  mountain 
passes  near  Itri,  as  travellers  were  shortly  expected  up  from 
Naples.  "And  now,  Rinaldo,  my  good  fellow,"  said  the  Cap- 
lain,  who  was  nearly  intoxicated,  "  let  us  have  a  parting  song.' 


CfiO  FATHER  OSWALD. 

Rinaldo,  nothing  loath  to  keep  up  the  merriment,  readily  COO' 
olied 

I. 

Oh  !  who  is  so  gay  as  a  jolly  brigand, 
Who  lives  by  his  wits  and  stiletto, 
His  name  runs  like  wildfire  over  the  laml, 
For  the  Pope  never  keeps  it  in  petto. 

o. 

If  we  can't  get  a  castle,  we  live  in  a  cave, 

And  banish  all  sorrow  and  spleen, 
And  when  danger  's  at  hand,  we  are  active  and  brave, 

And  laugh  at  the  old  guillotine. 

3. 
Long  life  to  the  Tope,  good  compassionate  soul ! 

May  he  never  have  hotter  police  ; 
An  I  good  luck  to  ourselves,  as  we  spring  from  our  hole, 

The  next  plodding  traveller  to  fleece. 

4. 

Then  a  fig  for  the  fifty  old  worthies  and  Tope, 

Who  govern  the  Hapal  see, 
For  a  true  brigand  can  easily  cope 

With  their  catcli-htm-who-can  decree  ! 

The  applause  which  followed  Rinaldo's  ditty  gradually  sub- 
bided,  and  the  bandits  one  by  one  wrapt  themselves  in  their 
cloaks  to  sleep  away  the  fatigues  and  revels  of  the  day. 

Early  the  next  morning  the  Captain  and  his  detachment  set 
off  on  their  foraging  expedition,  and  the  rest  of  the  band,  under 
the  command  of  Rinaldo,  penetrated  higher  up  amongst  the 
thick  wood,  which  was  almost  trackless,  except  where  it  was 
interrupted  by  the  ancient  paved  streets,  and  remaining  vestiges 
of  the  dwellings  of  man.  Some  of  the  bandits  were  stationed 
under  what  is  called  the  fortress,  and  others  not  far  from  the 
remains  of  the  beautiful  amphitheatre.  Sefton  was  fettered,  no 
that  escape  was  impossible;  -and,  thus  secured,  was  allowed  to 
vrander  from  one  beautiful  spot  to  another,  but  always  under  the 
watchful  eye  of  a  guardian.  Notwithstanding  his  anxiety  as  to 
his  fate,  he  could  not  help  admiring  the  exquisite  and  peculiar 
scenery  around  him,  especially  during  the  magnificent  sunsets 
he  witnessed  from  this  classic  site;  he  enjoyed,  the  delicious 
reveries  and  reflections  produced  by  the  recollections  of  the  past, 
associated  to  the  beauties  of  the  present,  now  tinged  by  the  most 
delicate  fairy  softness  and  freshness  of  early  spring.  More  than 
a  week  had  elapsed  in  this  listless  sort  of  existence,  and  he  be- 
came daily  more  uneasy  at  the  delay  of  the  expected  ransom, 
ivhen  one  evening,  as  he  was  reposing  on  the  broken  remnants 


FATHER  OSWALD.  201 

of  an  ancient  column,  now  gazing  on  the  shadow)"  softening  ol 
the  evening  sky,  now  contemplating  the  peaceful  solitude  of  the 
Camaldolese  monastery,  which  lay  stretched  beneath  him,  nov/ 
listening  to  the  silvery  tones  of  the  church-bell  as  it  rung  the 
"  Ave  Maria,"  his  attention  was  suddenly  roused  by  the  sound 
of  a  guitar.  Sefton  turned  his  eyes  to  the  quarter  whence  the 
sound  proceeded,  and  beheld,  at  a  little  distance,  Rinaldo  seated 
near  Vincenza,  who  was  leaning  over  her  infant  boy,  reusing 
on  the  ground,  on  the  folds  of  a  rich  crimson  shawl,  the  spoils, 
doubtless,  of  some  unfortunate  traveller.  Vincenza  herself  was 
in  the  costume  of  Frascati,  but  composed  of  the  most  costly 
materials.  Her  head  and  neck  were  adorned  with  necklaces 
and  rich  jewels ;  her  figure  was  light  and  graceful,  and  her  dark, 
brilliant,  laughing  eyes,  accorded  well  with  the  lips  and  cheeks, 
that  told  of  the  sunny  south;  she  and  Rinaldo  were  singing,  and 
the  soft  evening  breeze  brought  the  accents  to  Seftoa.  as  he  gazed 
tin  the  picturesque  group  : — 

1 

Arc  Maria     ere  yet  the  dav's  close. 

For  protection  we  beg  through  the  forthcoming  night, 
As  twilight,  soft,  prelude  of  Nature's  repose, 

Steeps  the  senses  in  calmness  and  peaceful  delight. 

2. 

Ave  Maria  !  that  monastery  hell 

Seems  the  prayer  of  all  matter  thit's  voiceless  to  thee, 
Of  the  mounla'n  and  lull,  of  the  valley  and  dell, 

Of  the  rocks,  and  t.'ie  waves  of  the  fathomless  sea. 

3. 

Ave  Maria  '.  that  monastery  bell 
Bids  the  pilgrim  so  weary  uncover  and  kneel, 

It  rouses  the  monk  in  his  comfortless  cell. 
And  calls  forth  from  thousands,  the  hallowed  appeal. 

4. 

AVP  Maria  !  that  monastery  hell 

Has  cited  to  prayer  rny  a  1  tremMin?  muse, 
Oh  !  receive  of  devoti  >n  the  bosornful  swell. 

Nor  a  votary's  humble  petition  refuse. 

The  sound  ceased,  and  Sefton  thought  within  himself  \vba 
an  incomprehensible  being  man  was;  "  here  are  these  people,* 
mused  he,  "leading  a  wicked  and  lawless  life,  and  then  luflinj 
;heir  consciences  by  devotion  to  the  Virgin,  as  if  she,  (consider 
ing  her  merely  as  a  pure  and  holy  woman,)  could  I*  pleased 
with  accents  from  such  lips.4'  But  Selton  rasMv  judged  Ri- 
23 


2G2  F ATHER  OSWALD. 

naldo  and  Vincenza,  though  appearances  were  certainly  against 
them. 

In  a  few  moments,  Vincenza  arose,  and,  taking  her  child  in 
her  arms,  passed  by  the  spot  where  Sel'ton  was  sitting;  in  pass- 
ing him,  she  dropt  a  letter  close  to  him,  and  said  in  a  low  voice, 
"  It'  your  answer  to  this  is  in  the  affirmative,  break  a  broom 
branch,  and  leave  it  by  the  column  on  which  you  are  sitting." 
She  hastened  on  and  he  took  the  letter;  on  opening  it,  he  Ibund, 
to  his  surprise,  that  it  was  from  Father  Giuseppe,  who  briefly 
informed  Sel'ton,  that  the  bandits  had  determined,  in  case  of  the 
non-arrival  of  the  ransom,  after  two  more  days,  to  cut  off  one 
of  his  hands,  and  send  it  down  to  Rome  ;  that  he  himself,  confi- 
dent in  being  able  to  procure  his  escape,  hads:opped  ihe  ransom 
on  its  way  ;  that  Ilinaldo  and  Vincenza  had  both  become  sincere 
penitents,  and  had,  after  many  struggles,  determined  to  forsake 
their  lawless  life ;  that  they  were  both  to  be  at  the  church  of  the 
Capuchin  convent,  between  Tusculum  and  Frascati,  before 
sunrise  the  next  morning,  to  con  less  their  sins,  and  be  united  in 
lawful  matrimony ;  that  he  had  arranged  their  escape  to  a  distant 
province  in  Italy,  where  they  were  unknown,  and  in  which 
country  they  hoped  to  lead  a  virtuous  and  honest  life.  Father 
Guiseppe  stated  at  some  length,  how  he  had  known  and  instruc- 
ted Rinaldo  in  his  childhood,  how  he  was  led  by  bad  companions 
to  the  commission  of  some  crime  which  had  rendered  him  ob- 
noxious to  the  laws — that  fleeing  from  justice  he  had  joined  this 
lawless  gang:  how  he  had  never  ceased  praying  for  him,  and 
rousing  his  conscience,  till,  by  God's  grace,  he  was  brought  to 
true  penitence,  and  he  concluded  by  saying,  that  Rinaldo,  at  his 
earnest  request,  had  undertaken  to  favour  the  escape  of  Sefton. 
by  bringing  him  along  with  them  as  far  as  the  convent  already 
mentioned,  on  condition  that  Sefton  should  give  him  an  order 
tor  one  hundred  scudi  towards  the  payment  of  his  journey  to  the 
distant  place  of  his  retirement. 

When  Sefton  had  read  this  document,  he  fervently  thanked 
God  for  such  an  unexpected  hope  of  deliverance,  and  with  great 
delight  did  he  show  his  acceptance  of  the  condition,  by  break- 
ing the  broom  branch  and  leaving  it  as  Vincenza  had  told  him. 
That  night  he  slept  with  his  heart  full  of  hopes  and  fears  and 
gratitude,  and  the  morning  sun  found  him  kneeling  in  the  church 
of  the  Capuchins,  witnessing  Ihe  marriage  of  Rinaldo  and  Vin- 
cenza; Vincenza,  now  no  longer  decked  in  rich  and  ill-gotten 
robes,  but  in  the  simple  costume  of  her  native  Frascati.  Father 
Guiseppe  had  obtained  the  permission  of  the  parish  priest  to 
perform  the  marriage,  and  the  moment  that  was  finished,  they 
^nd  their  child  proceeded  disguised  by  the  earliest  coach  to 
Rome,  oa  the  way  to  their  destination. 


FATHER  OSWALD.  263 

While  Sefton  remained  concealed  for  a  lew  days  in  the  Ca- 
puchin convent,  he  had  several  conversations  with  Father  Gui- 
peppe,  on  different  points  of  Catholic  faith  and  pnictice,  and  was 
greatly  edified  with  the  meek,  humble,  mortified,  and  pious  de- 
meanour of  the  religious  community.  "  Surely,"  thought  ho, 
"  if  they  who  serve  the  Altar  have  a  right  to  live  by  the  altar, 
these  men  must  be  actuated  by  an  Apostolic  spirit,  who  re- 
nounce all  tithes  and  possessions,  and  depend  solely  on  the  vol- 
untary contributions  of  the  people,  who  will  give  only  in  pro- 
portion to  the  value  end  esteem  they  have  of  their  services." 

Before  he  left  the  convent  he  gave  them  a  copious  alms,  (as 
the  good  Father  had  taken  care  to  bring  him  a  sum  of  money 
from  his  banker  in  Rome,)  in  testimony  of  his  respect  and  obli- 
gation to  them ;  he  reached  Rome  in  safety,  to  the  joy  and  sur- 
prise of  his  anxious  friends;  particularly  the  gallant  Captain 
by  whom  he  had  been  so  ingloriously  deserted. 

"Yes,"  said  he,  as  he  concluded  the  relation  of  his  fearful 
adventures,  "  1  do  most  fully  retract  having  called  that  excellent 
man.  Father  Guiseppe,  an  idle  votfrant ;  and  I  acknowledge, 
tnat  amongst  the  barefooted  friars,  there  are  excellent,  and-holv 
and  useful  members  of  society." 


CHAPTER    XXXIV. 

"  Canst  thou  not  minister  to  a  mind  diseased : 
Pluck  from  the  memory  a  rooted  sorrow  : 
Raze  out  the  written  troubles  of  ihe  brain  ; 
And,  with  some  sweet  oblivious  aniidote, 
Cleanse  the  foul  bosom  of  that  perilous  stuff, 
Which  weighs  upon  the  heart  ?" 

SHAKSPEARE. 

BEFORE  Rinaldo  parted  from  Sefton,  he  gave  him  a  convinc- 
ing proof  of  the  sincerity  of  his  conversion  by  restoring  the 
little  miniature  of  Emma,  set  in  rubies,  which  has  been  already 
mentioned.  In  the  division  of  the  spoils  this  had  fallen  to  his 
lot,  and  he  now  returned  it  to  its  rightful  owner  uninjured. 
After  Sefton 's  return  to  Rome,  as  he  was  one  morning  fastening 
a  new  ribbon  to  it  previous  to  replacing  it  round  his  neck,  a  let- 
ter was  brought  to  him.  The  letter  was  from  Emma,  and  af- 
lected  him  very  much,  as  it  informed  him  of  the  serious  illness 
wl'  iLeir  youngest  child.  This  poor  baby  had  never  thriven  alter 


264  PATH EU  OSWALD. 

it  had  been  so  violently  torn  from  the  maternal  breast,  and  now 
during  the  period  of  dentition,  deprived  of  its  natural  nourish- 
ment, and  of  the  watchful  and  tender  cares  which  a  mother 
alone  can  give,  there  seemed  little  chance  of  its  living  much 
longer  in  this  vale  of  tears,  or  that  it  would  ever  more  gladden  a 
father's  eye  in  this  world.  Sei'ton  was  struck  with  grief,  for  he 
well  remembered  the  day  that  hr  forsook  Emma,  leaving  it  at 
her  breast;  and  afterwards,  when  IIP  had  it  with  him  at  Eagle- 
nost  Cottage,  he  never  could  look  at  it  without  a  pang.  He 
thought  God  had  sent  this  affliction  to  chastise  him  for  his  tardi- 
ness in  doing  what  conscience  too  plainly  told  him  was  right. 
When  he  reflected  on  this  intelligence,  he  wondered  how  he 
could  have  left  an  innocent  wife  so  long  without  any  mitigation 
of  the  severity  of  his  treatment  towards  her  with  regard  to  their 
children.  All  his  paternal  feelings  were  roused,  and  in  him 
they  were  very  strong.  What  to  do  was  the  next  question. 
Should  he  return  immediately  to  England  1  That  thought  did 
not  bring  peace ;  for  his  mind  was  yet  far  from  being  settled  on 
the  point  of  religion,  or  rather,  to  speak  more  correctly,  he  still 
felt  he  wanted  the  moral  courage  to  act  decidedly  in  the  way 
conscience  whispered  was  right.  It  was  loo  late  to  answer  the 
letter  by  that  day's  post ;  therefore  he  determined  to  take  a  soli- 
tary walk  and  reflect  well  on  the  matter.  He  rambled  as  far  as 
the  fountain  of  Egeria,  and  reflected  long  and  deeply  on  the  line 
of  conduct  to  pursue  ;  but  all  his  reflections  ended  as  they  had 
begun,  in  a  state  of  painful  indecision.  "I  will  take  advice," 
said  he,  springing  up  from  the  broken  stump  of  a  tree  on  which 
he  had  been  sitting:  "  I  will  go  directly  to  the  Gesu,  and  show 
this  letter  to  Father  Oswald:  he  is  interested  in  Emma's  fate; 
and  if  I  follow  his  advice,  I  think  I  cannot  act  unjustly;  be- 
sides, he  knows  all  the  circumstances  of  the  case — circumstances 
which  I  should  feel  some  little  difficulty  and  pain  in  relating  to 
any  other  person  in  Rome."  Accordingly,  Sefton  set  off,  and 
walked  as  fast  as  he  could  to  the  Gesu  : — as  fast  as  people  are 
apt  to  walk  sometimes,  when  they  seem  to  imagine  that  locomo- 
tion will  liberate  them  from  unpleasant  ideas.  Sel'ton  had  not 
seen  Father  Oswald  since  his  return  from  the  mountains;  he 
had,  therefore,  first  to  relate  his  adventures,  and  then  told  him 
of  his  grief;  showed  him  Emma's  letter  and  asked  what  steps 
he  thought  would  be  best  to  be  taken  :  adding,  "  1  have  a  par- 
ticular reason  for  wishing  to  visit  Naples  before  I  return  to  Eng- 
land, and,  perhaps,  even  Emma,  poor  thing!  would  li»  more 
satisfied  1  should  do  so,  if  she  knew  what  that  reason  was." 

"I  am  sure  your  wish  would  be  sufficient  for   her.''  said 
Father  Oswald,  smiling :  "  write,  and  tell  her  so,  my  good  friend." 


FATHER    OSV/ALD.  i-'CS 

••  Hie  f;»ct  is,"said  Sefton  bluntly,  "I  want  to  see  that  inira- 
uc,  or  rather  to  see  that  there  is  no  miracle  at  all.:> 

•'  You  mean  the  miracle  of  the  liquefaction  of  the  biocx)  of 
Faint  Janu.'-rins."  said  Father  Oswald  somewhat  archly. 

'•  Yes:  I  have  been  at  some  pains  to  find  out  lhat  the  reformed 
churches  have  never  yet  proved  or  produced  a  miracle  to  stamp 
their  mission  and  truth;  and  I  certainly  have  a  curiosity  to  see 
what  pretensions  this  alleged  miracle  of  the  blood  has  to  be 
what  Catholics  pietend  it  is  :  namely,  a  standing  testimonial  ot 
the  truth  of  their  religion.  You  may  remember,  Sir,  a  conver- 
sation I  had  with  you  once  on  the  subject  of  miracles  ;  well,  1 
r.rn  .still  of  the  same  opinion  ;  if  I  could  be  convinced  of  the 
existence  of  miracles  now  in  the  Catholic  or  any  other  religion, 
it  would  make  a  great  change  in  my  mind." 

"  That  miracles  have  ever  existed,  and  do  still  exist  in  the 
Catholic  Church,  is  an  undoubted  fact."  said  Father  Oswald  : 
"and  it  is  equally  a  fact  that  they  never  have  and  never  can 
•ixist  in  any  other ;  because  God  never  could  work  a  miracle  in 
confirmation  of  error;  it  would  be  a  blasphemy  to  imagine  so. 
I  think  Mrs.  Sefton  would  certainly  wish  you  to  satisfy  your 
mind  on  this  subject  before  your  return  ;  but  I  recommend  you 
to  write  and  mention  your  wish,  as  I  said  before  ;  in  the  mean- 
time, could  you  not  permit  her  to  go  to  her  children  7  You  must 
be  aware  that  this  kindness  on  your  part  would  be  a  sensible 
consolation  to  her  during  your  protracted  absence;  and,  again, 
as  vou  ask  my  advice,  I  think  you  ought  not  in  conscience  to 
dep..ve  that  sick  infant  of  its  mother's  care  without  a  sufficient 
reason,  now,  in  this  case,  I  cannot  see  the  existence  of  any  suf- 
ficient reason  for  such  an  act." 

Sefton  coloured,  and  fidgetted,  and  sighed. 

"  Excuse  my  speaking  plainly,  but  I  think  that  act  of  justice 
is  the  least  you  can  do  towards  your  wife  and  children ;  she  ha? 
suffered  a  good  deal  on  your  account." 

"  O  my  God  !  indeed  she  has,"  exclaimed  Sefton  vehementlv. 
striking  his  forehead  with  his  hand.  "I  will  do  it,  yes,  I  will 
do  it.  I  shall  write  by  to-morrow's  post,  and  tell  her  to  godcwn 
to  Devonshire,  and  join  her  children  and  Harriet  there;  bul 
then  the  General,"  added  he,  stopping  short:  "  the  old  man  has 
been  very  kind  to  her;  what  will  he  say  to  this  arrangement  1" 

'•  Let  him  accompany  her  there,  and  when  thr  child  is  better, 
thoy  can  all  return  together,  if  he  wishes  it.  to  his  own  house. 
I  owe  my  excellent  friend  a  letter,  and  I  shall  write  and  explain 
the  state  of  the  case  to  him  if  you  like." 

"Well,  my  dear  Sir,  I  think  it  would  be  a  good  thing  if  you 
should  take  that  trouble.  I  hope  rny  poor  Emma  will  be  a  little 
23* 


JW6  FATHER  OSWALD.     , 

consoled  by  this  arrangement,  and  I  shall  have  time  to  get  rny 
own  mind  settled  one  way  or  another  before  we  meet.  This  1 
ieel  absolutely  necessary  for  the  happiness  of  us  both,  if  ever 
we  are  to  be  happy  again,"  added  he  despondingly. 

"Keep  up  your  heart,  my  good  friend;  God  never  forsakes 
those  who  trust  in  Him,"  said  Father  Oswald  kindly. 

Sriton  shook  him  warmly  by  the  hand,  and  hurried  out  of  the 
room:  he  went  to  his  lodgings,  and  immediately  wrote  a  feeling 
and  consolatory  letter  to  Emma,  mentioning  li is  wish  to  spend 
thrt  Holy  Week  in  Rome,  and  to  visit  Naples;  but  adding,  that 
in  case  the  child  was  worse,  and  that  she  wished  him  to  return, 
he  should  think  it  his  duty  as  a  father  so  to  do.  He  lelt  con- 
soled after  this  letter  was  sent  off,  notwithstanding  his  parental 
anxiety  still  remained. 

It  would  be  difficult  to  convev  by  words  an  idea  of  the  grief, 
anxiety,  and  agitation  which  temrna  endured  during  this  period, 
and  more  particularly  after  she  was  informed  of  the  alarming 
illness  of  her  baby.  Her  uncle  was  indefatigable  in  his  affec- 
tionate attentions,  but  her  feeling  of  desolation  was  too  great  to 
be  susceptible  of  human  consolation,  however  grateful  she  night 
be  to  him  who  offered  it;  all  her  consolation,  all  her  support 
was  prayer;  but  never  during  the  whole  period  of  this  severe 
trial  did  she  once  regret  the  generous  sacrifice  she  had  made  to 
her  God.  She  constantly  prayed  to  her  Saviour  to  support  her 
under  her  afflictions,  and  He  did  not  fail  to  mingle  a  drop  of 
consolation  in  the  bitter  cup  she  was  drinking  for  His  sakb. 
The  General  began  to  be  seriously  alarmed  about  her  health. 
Many  and  vehement  were  the  exclamations  and  interjections 
that  escaped  him  on  the  conduct  of  her  husband;  these  would 
have  been  much  more  frequent,  had  he  not  been  aware  of  the 
pain  they  gave  her.  When  Sefton's  letter  arrived,  giving  his 
wife  permission  to  join  her  children,  it  would  be  difficult  to  say 
whether  Emma  or  her  uncle  was  the  most  surprised.  The  same 
post  brought  Father  Oswald's  letter  to  the  General,  who,  in  con- 
sequence, bustled  about  and  exerted  himself  so  effectually,  thai 
in  less  than  three  honrs  after  the  arrival  of  the  letters,  he  and 
Emma  were  on  their  road  to  Devonshire.  Harriets  joy  and 
surprise  at  their  arrival  were  very  great;  and  as  :he  clasped 
Emma  in  her  arms,  "  Now,"  said  she,  "  I  shall  be  able  at  last 
to  get  some  per.ce  and  quiet.  Oh!  the  troubles  I  have  had  with 
those  children  !  my  dear  Emma,  now,  at  least,  you  will  take  ail 
that  oft'  my  hands,  and  I  shall  be  able  to  sit  still." 

"  Too  happy  shall  I  be  so  to  do,  my  dear,  dear  sister,"  replied 
Emma,  whose  emotion  was  so  great  she  could  scarcely  speak; 
"  now,  take  me  to  iny  children." 


FATHER  OSWALD.  267 

"Yes,"  said  Harriet,  turning  to  the  General  as  they  walked 
towards  the  nursery,  "yesterday  afternoon  I  saw  two  magpies 
on  the  lawn,  and  I  was  sure  some  good  would  come  cf  it." 

"  Oh  !  Miss  Harriet,  Miss  Harriet!"  said  the  Ger.era-I,  shak- 
ing his  head  incredulously,  "  that  won't  do,  indeed  !" 

But  Harriet  was  at  this  moment  too  much  occupied  with  her 
:wn  happiness  at  getting  Emma  'xick,  to  pay  attention  to  any 
thing  else. 

The  fostering  care  of  its  mother  soon  restored  the  babe  to 
convalescence:  it  was  seldom  out  of  her  arms,  night  or  day, 
and  fervently  did  she  thank  God  for  the  consolation  He  had 
thus  vouchsafed.  She  wrote  a  letter  full  of  affection  and  grati- 
tude to  Edward;  expressing  her  entire  approbation  that  he  should 
use  every  means  to  satisfy  his  mind  one  th  subject  of  religion, 
though  his  prolonged  absence  could  not  but  cause  her  pain. 
This  letter  drew  tears  from  Edward's  eyes,  and  from  that  time 
their  correspondence  became  daily  more  affectionate  and  inti- 
mate ;  he  proposed  many  of  his  difficulties  to  her,  and  was  fre- 
quently surprised  at  the  simple  and  clear  manner  in  which  she 
answered  them.  In  the  meantime  Emma  consoled  herself  with 
her  children  as  well  as  she  could;  but  all  who  know  what  a 
woman's  love  is  need  not  be  informed — while  her  husband  was 
far  away,  and  her  heart  divided  with  hopes  and  fears  regard- 
ing her  future  destiny — how  fitful  her  happiness  was.  how 
chequered  were  her  nights  and  days  with  doubts,  fears,  and 
anxieties.  In  prayer  she  found  her  only  peace  and  consolation, 
reposing  with  an  entire  confidence  all  her  griefs  in  the  besom 
of  her  Heavenly  Father.  She  frequently  received  the  Holy 
Communion,  and  she  then  felt  fully  the  truth  of  the  Saviour's 
divine  words,  "Come  to  me,  all  you  who  labour  and  are  heavily 
burthened,  and  I  will  refresh  yon,  and  you  shall  find  rest  for 
If  DOT  souls." 


FATHER  OSWALO. 


CHAPTER   XXXV. 

"  O  teach  me  to  believe  Thee  lluis  concealed, 
.And  search  no  further  than  thyself  revealed  ; 
Hut  her  alone  for  my  director  take, 
Whom  tliou  hast  promised  never  to  forsake." 

THf"  Lent  passed  vapidly  away,  and  each  day  found  Seftor 
more  deeply  <>ngaged  in  studying  and  seeking  explanations  o: 
what  appeared  to  him  odd  or  absurd  in  the  Catholic  religion; 
his  mine!  being  rio\v  so  completely  absorbed  on  the  subject  of 
religion,  that  he  attended  little  either  to  the  study  of  antiquities, 
or  the  pleasures  of  society.  With  the  natural  ardour  and  per- 
severance of  his  character,  he  was  now* determined  to  silt  the 
subject  thoroughly,  and  not  to  cease  his  efforts  till  his  mind  was 
quite  satisfied  one  \vav  or  another.  He  «till  nourished  the  idea 
formed  in  Switzerland,  that  if  he  could  be  convinced  of  the  con- 
tinued existence  of  miracles,  either  in  the  Catholic  church,  or 
in  any  other,  that  that  church  must  be  the  true  one:  but  his 
heart  often  sunk  when  he  thought  of  the  impossibility  of  ever 
being  satisfied  on  that  point;  for  he  felt  that  the  evidence  hi; 
should  require  must  be  so  unanswerable,  that  he  despaired  of 
ever  meeting  with  it.  He  had  determined  to  visit  Naples,  t.o 
se3  the  asserted  miracle  of  the  liquefaction  of  the  blood  of  St. 
.Tanuarius;  but  so  deeply  impressed  in  his  mind  was  the  Pro- 
testant axiom  that  miracles  have  ceased,  that  he  felt  convinced 
the  whole  was  a  complete  trick;  and  that  he  had  only  to  go  and 
see,  to  be  completely  satisfied  that  it  was  a  vile  imposture  of  the 
Clergy  to  keep  the  people  in  ignorance  and  superstition.  He 
never  alluded  in  his  ideas  to  the  possibility  of  the  existence  of  a 
supernatural  interposition  of  Providence  in  the  affairs  of  men, 
except  sometimes  in  his  conversations  with  Father  Oswald. 
He  had  read  so  many  infidel  and  Protestant  writers  on  the  sub- 
ject, that  he  was  apt  to  imagine  it  was  a  weakness  almost  to  be 
ashamed  of,  to  suppose  it  possible  that  miracles  could  exist  in 
the  present  day:  however,  as  he  always  talked  very  freely  vith 
Father  Oswald,  their  discussions  on  the  subject  of  a  supernatu 
ral  providence  were  not  unfrequent.  Holy  Week  was  now  fast 
approaching,  and  the  mysteries  of  the  passion  were  ushered  in 
by  the  solemn  benediction  of  palm  branches  in  the  Sistine 
Chapel,  which  the  Pope  and  Cardinals  bore  in  their  hands  in 
slow  procession ;  while  the  choir  sung  the  triumphal  song  of 
the  Hcbrt  ws,  "  Hosanna !  Blessed  is  He  that  corneth  in  the  name 


KATHF.R  OSWALD.  2<>9 

of  the  Lord  the  King  of  Israel."*  Tins  joyful  ceremony  was 
followed  immediately  by  the  mournful  chant  of  the  passion. 
The  contrast  made  a  deep  impression  on  the  heart  of  Sefton, 
arxl  he  could  not  help  reflecting  how  fickle  and  worthless  were 
the  applauses  of  this  world,  when  the  very  men,  who  a  few  days 
before  in  loud  ac.'laim,  extolled  the  Saviour  as  the  King  of 
Israel,  now  cry  out  in  horrid  yells,  "  Crucify  him,  crucify  him." 
Sefton  beheld  all  the  touching  ceremonies  of  that  holy  and 
solemn  week  with  the  greatest  attention.  He  satisfied  himself 
on  the  meaning  and  explanation  of  every  thing  he  saw ;  and 
Monsignore  Guidi  found  it  required  no  little  patience  to  answer 
ill  his  inquiries;  astonished  as  he  was  at  the  beauty  and  pro- 
priety of  the  Church  service.  As  he  became  acquainted  with 
the  prayers  and  understood  the  meaning  of  the  ceremonies,  he 
felt  their  effect  in  exciting  devotional  feelings,  and  expressed 
considerable  regiet  that  no  vestige  of  them  had  been  retained  in 
the  English  service.  When  he  was  informed  tlict  the  Catholics 
in  England  still  keep  up  the  practice  of  the  same  ceremonies  as 
he  was  witnessing  in  Rome,  his  astonishment  was  unfeigned; 
he  again  wondered  what  reason  could  have  induced  the  h'rst 
Reformers  to  abolish  from  their  ritual,  the  yearly  remembrance 
of  the  sufferings  of  the  Saviour,  and  the  benefits  of  the  Redemp- 
tion, a  practice  so  natural  for  a  Christian,  and  so  calculated  u- 
excite  sentiments  of  compunctious  penitence  for  sin,  and  grati 
lude  to  God.  Sefton  felt  his  heart  melt  within  him.  as  he  lis 
tenod  to  the  deep  pathetic  tones  of  the  "  Miserere,"  and  his  whoU 
voul  dissolved  in  tenderness  and  compassion  as,  with  absorbec 
attention,  he  dwelt  on  the  prolonged  deep  pathos  of  the  voices 
that  as  from  another  sphere  chanted  the  sublime  account  gives 
by  the  Evangelists  of  the  sufferings  and  death  of  a  God-man 
Ho  was  deeply  moved  at  the  solemn  gloom  that  sat  on  every 
brow  in  the  streets  of  Rome  on  Good  Friday,  as  if  some  common 
calamity  had  fallen  upon  the  city.  "  Surely,"  said  he,  "  these 
people  must  think  upon,  and  feel  for  the  sufferings  of  the  Lord  ! 
whence  comes  it  that  these  salutary  days  pass  over  our  people  of 
England  without  producing  the  slightest  change  in  their  habits, 
looks,  and  busy  pursuits  1  They  have  nothing  to  remind  them 
t.f  the  holy  season;  perhaps  not  one  in  ten  thousand  thinks 
upon  his  crucified  Redeemer.  The  men  who  abolished  all 
external  marks  of  sorrow,  kr..?w  little  of  the  human  heart,  or 
had  litlle  Effect  ion  for  Jesus/'  These  mournful  leelings  swelled 
in  his  breast  as  he  strolled  through  the  streets  of  Rome,  and  re- 
marked that  the  joyful  sound  of  a  bell  was  not  heard  during  that 
nay;  and  when  he  stepped  into  any  church,  he  found  every  light 
•  Join)  xii.  13. 


270  r.VTIIKR    OSWALD. 

extinguished,  every  Altnr  naked,  stripped  of  all  ornament,  nnrt 
a  universal  desolation  reigning  round.  In  the  afternoon  he  went 
to  St.  Peter's  with  Monsignore  Guidi,  to  see  the  pilgrims,  who 
came  in  crowds  on  that  day  to  the  Basilica.  He  there  saw  a 
Cardinal  approach ;  he  was  the  grand  penitentiary,  accompanied 
with  his  officers  and  the  Confessors  of  the  Church.  The  Car- 
dinal ascended  to  the  elevated  seat  of  the  Confessional,  which 
had  already  been  prepared  for  him,  and  a  golden  wand  was  put 
into  his  hands ;  then  the  accompanying  Priests,  one  alter  an- 
other, knelt  humbly  before  him,  and  he  laid  on  the  head  of  each 
.he  golden  wand.  Next  followed  a  crowd  of  seculars,  male 
and  female,  of  every  class,  to  receive  a  gentle  stroke  of  the  rod, 
Sef'ton  smiled  at  the  ceremony,  and,  turning  to  Monsignore 
Guidi,  asked  him,  "Is  there  any  magic  in  that  wand1?  is  the 
Cardinal  conjuring  with  it  1" 

"The  question  is  natural  enough  from  you,"  replied  the  Pre- 
late; "it  has  been  asked  be  lore  by  Protestants.  Its  meaning  i; 
simple,  and  when  you  will  have  heard  the  explanation,  I  thiniv 
you  cannot  aisapprove  of  its  piety.  By  that  humble  prostration, 
each  individual  acknowledges,  in  the  face  of  the  Church,  thai 
he  is  a  poor  sinner,  worthy  of  those  stripes  which  were  laid  on 
the  shoulders  of  Jesus." 

"The  thought  is  just  and  holy,"  replied  Sefton.  "Yet  1 
doubt  if  a  Protestant  could  ever  he  induced  to  make  such  a  pub- 
lic act  of  humiliation.  Alas!  who  is  more  worthy  of  stripes 
than  myself  1" 

Without  saying  another  word,  he  pushed  forward,  and,  kneel- 
ing reverently,  received  the  tap  of  Ihe  golden  wand.  Many 
Protestants  were  present,  and  gazed  with  astonishment  at  this 
sight ;  some  condemned  it  as  an  act  of  aposiacv  :  others  main- 
tained it  was  only  a  sportive  act  of  levity,  performed  as  the 
matter  of  future  merriment.  Quite  different  were  the  sentiments 
of  Sefton ;  he  felt  consoled  internally  at  this  his  first  victory 
over  rebellious  pride,  and  at  the  triumph  over  all  human  re- 
spects. He  then  proceeded  to  the  Sistine  Chapel,  to  attend  for 
the  third  time  at  the  ofiice  of  Tenebroe,  with  redoubled  fervour 
and  devotion.  If  his  soul  was  touched  and  filled  with  holy 
pensiveness  at  these  serious  and  affecting  ceremonies,  it  was 
raised,  and  exalted,  and  rejoiced  by  the  bursts  of  Alleluias  and 
holy  exultation  which  rung  through  the  roof  of  the  venera- 
ble Sistine  Chnpel  on  the  morning-  of  Holy  Saturday,  in  antici- 
pation of  the  Resurrection  of  the  Saviour — that  Resurrection, 
which  was  the  fulfilment  and  confirmation  of  all  the  prophecies 
of  the  old  law,  and  of  the  many  promises  of  the  Redeemer. 
Then  came  the  glorious  pontifical  of  the  Sovereign  Pontiff  in 


FATHER  OSWALD.  271 

tne  unrivalled  church  of  St.  Peter's  on  the  morning  of  Easter 
Sunday,  when  all  is  joy,  and  peace,  and  happiness ;  it  iilled 
niiu  with  wonder  and  delight.  Sefton's  admiration  reached  its 
climax  at  the  imposing  and  heart-touching  spectacle  of  the 
(solemn,  triple  benediction  imparted  by  the  Pope  to  the  whole 
Torld,  Iron;  the  front  of  the  Vatican  Basilica,  as  a  seal  of  peace 
and  protection  given  by  the  "  One  Shepherd,"  to  His  '•  one  lold ;" 
he  was  deep'y  affected,  and  he  felt  within  himself  how  beautiful 
and  how  good  it  is  for  brethren  to  dwell  together  in  peace  ani 
charity,  and  mutual  union.  By  degrees  the  tumult  of  his  feel- 
mas  subsided,  and  he  gazed  with  a  calm  feeling  of  hope  on  the 
first  soft,  and  then  brilliant  illumination  of  the  dome  and  area  of 
St.  Peter's.  He  had  experienced  during  the  past  week  a  variety 
of  new  emotions;  but  he  retired  to  rest  that  night  in  a  calm  and 
peaceful  state  of  mind.  One  thing  had  annoyed  and  astonished 
Sefton  extremely  during  the  past  week,  and  that  was  the  scan- 
dalous behaviour  of  the  Protestants.  He  was  often  fairly 
ashamed  of  his  fellow-countrymen  and  country-women.  He 
sometimes  attempted  remonstrance  and  reproach,  but  both  were 
equally  unavailing.  The  English  seemed  to  imagine  these 
solemn  and  religious  devotions  as  a  kind  of  show  or  exhibition 
got  up  on  purpose  to  amuse  or  astonish  them.  They  appeared 
lor  that  week  to  have  laid  aside  every  feelinjr  of  decency,  deco- 
rum, and  propriety :  forgetful,  alike,  that  they  were  in  the  tem- 
ple of  God  and  in  a  foreign  land,  where,  though  their  conduct  is 
too  kindly  tolerated,  nevertheless,  it  occasions  both  scandal  and 
contempt  from  its  more  polished  inhabitants.  What  would  Pro- 
testants say,  if  they  saw  a  party  of  Catholics  behave  in  the 
same  gross  way,  and  utter  the  same  profane,  insulting,  and  silly 
speeches  in  St.  Paul's  in  London  as  they  do  in  St.  Peter's,  and 
in  other  churches  in  Rome  1  It  is  unfortunately  loo  true,  that 
the  conduct  of  Protestants  often  brings  the  unbidden,  burning 
blush  on  the  cheeks  of  honourable  English  Catholics,  as  well  a« 
of  pious  and  high-born  Italians. 


172  FATHEi-.  OSWALD. 


CHAPTER    XXXVI. 

"  A«  I  have  seen  a  swan 
With  Bootless  labour  s\virn  against  the  tide, 
•    And  spend  her  strength  with  overmatching  waves." 

SHAKSPEARB. 

"  CAN  I  do  any  thing  for  you  in  Naples,  Sir  V  sail!  Sefton  ti< 
Father  Oswald  a  few  days  alter  Easter,  as  he  was  paying  him 
a  visit  at  the  Gesu. 

"  Thank  you,"  replied  the  Father,  "are  you  going  to  leave 
Rome  so  soon  V 

"  I  am  anxious  to  see  Naples  and  its  environs  before  the 
weather  becomes  too  hot ;  and  Easter  was  late  this  year,  you 
know." 

"  Well :  do  not  forget  to  go  and  see  the  miracle ;  promise  mt> 
that,"  said  Father  Oswald. 

"You  mean  the  liquefaction  of  the  blood  of  St.  Januaritis 
or  rather  its  alleged  liquefaction;  now.  tell  me,  Father  Oswald, 
candidly,  do  you  reallv  believe  it  to  be  a  miracle  vourself  1" 

"Most  certainly  I  do,"  said  Father  Oswald  ;  "  I  have  seen 
it  with  my  own  eyes." 

"  I  can  assure  you,"  said  Sefton  seriously,  "  I  have  been  told 
that  the  Neapolitans  themselves  do  not  believe  in  it." 

"Not  believe  in  it !"  exclaimed  Father  Oswald;  "well,  you 
reallv  astonish  me." 

" Nevertheless,  I  have  heard  so,"  answered  defton  ;  "and  in 
a  work  published  not  long  ago  by  a  person  who  had  resided  sev- 
eral years  in  Naples  it  is  called  :The  Miracle  of  the  Lazzaroni.' 
Perhaps  some  of  the  most  gross  and  superstitious  of  the  lowest 
orders  may  believe  in  it,  but  certainly  not  Catholics  of  any  edu- 
cation." 

'•  There  we  quite  differ,"  said  Father  Oswald  firmly ;  "  some 
inficle'.s  may  scoffing!  y  term  it  the  miracle  of  the  Lazzaroni,  as 
the  uiibelieving  Jews  called  the  miracles  of  Christ  the  works  of 
Beelzebub  I  only  wish  you  had  been  with  me  the  day  I  had 
the  happiness  of  seeing  it  take  place.  I  wish  you  had  seen  the 
church  crowded,  not  for  one  day,  but  for  eight  continuous  days, 
with  throngs  of  pious  and  well-educated  people,  from  the  king 
to  the  beggar.  But  go,  my  crood  friend,  and  see  it  yourself,  and 
give  not  credit  to  such  idle  tales,  but  make  use  of  your  own 
excellent  understanding." 

"lean  assure  you,  Sir/'  said  Sefton.  "Protestants  maintain 
that  su.ii  deceptions  are  now  confined  to  convents,  or  to  the 


FATHER  OSWALD.  %l& 

most  ignorant  people,  and  that  the  Romish  Church  no  longei 
ventures  to  appeal  to  miracles  in  arguing  with  them." 

"  Does  not  Milner,  the  latest  of  our  controvertists,  appeal  to 
recent  miracles  wrought  in  England,  and  of  which  innumerable 
witnesses  were  then  living,"  answered  Father  Oswald  gravely. 
"  Was  not  the  glorious  miracle  wrought  in  the  person  of  Mrs. 
Mattingly,  and  in  the  house  of  the  Mayor  of  Washington,  wit- 
nessed by  thousand^,  and  proved  by  the  sworn  affidavits  of  both 
Protestants  and  Catholics'.'"* 

"  J  never  even  heard  of  it,"  said  Sefton ;  "  I  should  like  ex- 
tremely to  see  the  account  of  it." 

"  I  can  easily  procure  it  lor  you,"  answered  the  Father.  "  In 
the  true  Church  of  Christ  miracles  must  always  be  found  until 
the  Word  of  Christ  shall  pass  away.  For  in 'the  true  Church 
will  ever  be  found  the  true  faith,  and  true  believers  to  whom 
Jesus  has  made  this  solemn  promise  in  the  most  impressive 
manner:  'Amen,  amen,  I  say  to  you,  he  that  believeth  in  me, 
the  works  that  I  do,  lie  also  shall  do,  and  greater  than  these  shall 
he  do.'  " 

"  But  that  promise,"  replied  Sefton,  "  was  only  for  the  first 
ages  of  the  Church,  and  when  the  words  of  our  Saviour  want- 
ed confirming;  of  course  I  believe  in  the  miracles  of  the  New 
Testament." 

"  But,"  said  Father  Oswald,  "  the  solemn  promise  of  Christ, 
which  I  have  just  repeated  to  you,  is  absolute,  and  not  limited 
to  time,  place,  or  person.  Miracles  are  one  of  the  most  striking 
prerogatives  of  the  true  Church,  because  it  is  the  voice  of  God 
iittesting  the  truth  ;  and  is  intelligible  equally  to  the  wise  and 
'o  the  ignorant.  I  wish  Protestants,  who  boast  so  much  of  their 
:-elieving  in  Christ,  would  one  day  favour  us  with  a  simila" 
jiroof  of  their  faith.  But  they  find'  it  more  convenient  to  deny 
:miracles  altogether  ;  in  this  they  show  a  little  of  the  wisdom  of 
this  world.  "Tis  easy  to  deny.  The  Pharisees  denied  the  mira- 
cles of  Christ  because  they  could  not  admit  them  without  admit- 
ting His  doctrine  ;  or,  when  the  evidence  was  too  strong,  they 
attributed  the  wonder  to  the  Devil.  Here  again  we  have  a 
glimpse  of  Protestantism  in  the  Bible.  There  are  some  peo- 
ple, we  know,  '  who  will  not  believe  if  one  rise  again  from  the 
dead.1  "t 

Sefton  mused  a  little,  and  then  said,  "  But  this  miracle,  upon 
which  you  lay  so  much  stress,  is  wrought,  as  far  as  I  can  under- 
stand it,  on  account  of  a  saint,  and  must,  if  true,  or  if  believed 

*  The  reader  shonM  peruse  the  interesting  pamphlet,  published  by  Cas 
serly  &  Sons,  New  York;  under  the  title  of  "The  Virgins  of  the  Tvrol.' 
t  Luke  xvi.  31. 

24 


"74  FATHEI  OSWALD. 

10  be  true,  necessarily  promote  image  worship,  anc.  tlie  interces- 
sion of  saints;  now,  Protestants  assert  there  is  no  mediator  bui 
Jesus  Christ ;  the  mediation  of  angels  and  saints  being  directly 
contrary  to  the  inspired  Apostle." 

"  It  is  written  in  the  book  of  Moses,"  said  Father  Oswald, 

<:  'the  Lord  our  God  made  a  covenant  with  us  in  Horeb He 

spoke  to  us  face-to-('ace  in  the  mount  out  of  the  midst  of  fire. 
I  was  tli".  mediator,  and  stood  between  the  Lord  and  you  at  that 
time,  to  show  you  His  words.'*  Here,  then.  we.  have  another 
mediator  between  God  and  men ;  and  what  is  better  still,  St. 
Paul  acknowledges  it :  '  Why,  then,  was  the  law  1  It  was  set 

because  of  transgressions .'.being  ordained  by  angels  in  the 

hands  of  a  mediator.'  "t 

"  But,"  said  Sefton  eagerly,  "  St.  Paul  said  also,  there  is  out 
'  one  Mediator  of  God  and  men,  the  Man,  Christ  Jesus.'  " 

"Certainly;  as  you  curtail  the  text,"  answered  Father  Os- 
wald, "  no  doubt  he  does ;  but  give  us  the  whole  text,  and  com- 
pare it  with  parallel  texts,  and  then  you  will  find  no  contradic- 
tion, nor  any  support  tor  your  sophistical  argument.  St.  Paul 
says  of  our  Lord,  '  He  is  a  m^Untor  of  a,  bcUir  Testament, 
which  is  established  on  better  promises.'}  Again:  '  He  is  the 
mediator  of  the  New  Testament,  that,  bit  means  of  his  death, 
lor  the  redemption  of  those  transgressions  which  were  under 
the  former  Testament,  they  that  are  called  may  receive  the  pro- 
mise of  eternal  inheritance. '§  And  again:  "  You  are  come. ..to 
Jesus,  the  mediator  of  the  New  Testament,  and  to  the  sprinkling 
of  blood,  which  speaketh  better  than  that  of  Abel." 

"  I  do  not  exactly  see  the  application,"  said  Sci'ton. 

"However,"  continued  Father  Oswald,  "it  is  clear  from  these 
texts  of  the  Apostle,  that  he  considers  Moses  the  mediator  of  the 
Old  Covenant  or  Testament,  and  Christ  the  mediator  of  the 
New  Testament,  but  in  a  far  more  perfect  manner,  inasmuch  as 
he  established  it  in  his  own  blood." 

"  I  cannot  see  it  yet,"  said  Sefton  triumphantly,  "  and  I  do 
not  thinlc  you  have  got  out  of  my  difficulty  at  all." 

"  Well,  wait  a  little,"  said  Father  Oswald  patiently  ;  "  let  us 
return  to  your  text,  but  give  it  entire ;  here  it  is  in  the  New 
Testament:  '  For  there  is  one  God  and  one  mediator  of  God 
and  men,  the  Man-Christ  Jesus,  iciio  gave  himself  a,  redemption 
for  all,  a  testimony  in  due  times.'ll  Christ  indeed  is  the  only 
mediator  of  redemption ;  Catholics  are  not  such  fools  as  to  think 
that  saints  or  angels  shed  their  blood  for  our  redemption ;  but 
what  has  all  this  to  do  with  the  mediation  of  prayer,  with  inter- 

*  Deut.  v.  2.  t  Gal.  i:i.  19.  J  Il*b  viii.  C 

»  Hub.  ix.  15.  1  1  Tim.  ii  5 


FATHER  OSWALD.  y,S 

region  snch  as  we  ask  of  the  saints.  It  is  really  wonderful 
i.ow  blind  Biblicals  are!  Why,  it' they  would  read  the  first 
words  of  this  very  chapter,  they  would  find  the  sound  principle 
of  the  Catholic  tenet  established  most  firmly  by  the  Apostles.'* 

li  How  so,  Sir  i'1  said  Sefton. 

"  Look  here,"  replied  Father  Oswald,  turning  to  the  place  in 
the  book,  "Does  not  the  Apostle  say,  '  F  desire,  therefore,  first  of 
all,  that  supplications,  prayers,  intercessions,  and  thanksgivings 

l>e  made  for  all  men For  this  is  good  and  acceptable  in  the 

sight  of  God,  our  Saviour.'*  Now,  if  the  prayers  and  interces- 
sions of  men  still  on  earth,  are  no  ways  derogatory  to  the  me- 
diatorship  of  Jesus  Christ,  but.  on  the  contrary  are  good  and 
acceptable  in  the  sight  of  Go;!,  how  much  more  so  must  be  the 
prayers  and  intercessions  of  the  just  made  perfect?" 

"  Granting  what  you  say  to  be  perhaps  in  a  certain  degree 
t:ne,"  replied  Sefton,  "still  I  cannot  but  think  it  strange  policy 
in  the  Roman  Church  to  direct  the  devotion  of  her  members  to 
Uie  assembly  of  the  saints." 

"  What  is  there  of  strange  policy."  siftd  Father  Oswald  quiet- 
ly, "in  imploring  the  intercession  of  a  good  man,  whether  living 
or  dead  ?  I  see  nothing  thnt  is  not  conformable  to  sound  common 
sense  and  Holy  Scripture." 

"  Perhaps  in  the  sense  you  take  it,  Sir,  and  many  well-educa- 
ted Catholics  also,  there  is  not,"  replied  Sefton,  "but  I  am  con- 
vinced it  is  a  very  different  thing  with  the  common  people:  whv, 
there  are  many  of  them  who  will  really  fall  down  and  adore 
any  thing,  and  one  can  call  them  neither  more  nor  less  than 
idolaters !" 

Father  Oswald  held  up  hishands  !  "  Really,  Mr.  Sefton,  I  am 
amazed  at  your  assertion.  Why,  it  scarcely  merits  an  answer  : 
one  of  our  little  children  might  put  you  to  the  blush  :  no,  no.  my 
good  Sir,  Catholics  are  not  idolaters.  There  is  a  wide  difference 
between  divine  worship  and  honour  paid  to  the  saints.  Divine 
worship  belongs  to  God  alone;  honour  and  reverence  may  be 
paid  to  many  of  God's  creatures,  and  the  most  ignorant  and  lowest 
of  Catholic  common  people  know  that  Catholics  do  not  p;iy  di- 
vine worship  to  the  saints,  or  angels,  or  the  Blessed  Virgin,  or 
their  images,  whatever  wise  and  learned  Protestants  may  think 
and  assert  to  the  contrary  !" 

"But  why  cannot  people  applv  directly  to  God  for  whnl  they 
want,  instead  of  asking  it  through  the  sainls  T'  persisted  Seiton. 

"Because  the  Catholic  is  humble,  and  deems  the  prayers  of 
ihe  saints  in  Heaven  more  acceptable  to  God  than  his  own  weak 
efforts,"  answered  the  Father;  "thus  the  Council  of  Treat 
*  Tim.  ii.  1. 


S7D  FATHER  OSWALD. 

teaches,  that '  the  saints  who  reign  with  Christ  offer  up  their 
prayers  to  God  for  men,  and  that  it  is  good  and  useful  to  invoke 
them,  and  in  order  to  obtain  from  God  blessings  through  his  Son 
Jesus  Christ  our  Lord,  n-ko  alone  is  our  Redeemer  and  Saviour, 
>o  have  recourse  to  their  prayers,  help,  and  assistance.'*  St. 
Paul  himself  says:  'I  beseech  you  that  you  help  me  in  yew 
prayers  for  me  to  God  ;'t  and  St.  John  says :  '  I  make  my  prayer, 
that  thou  maytst  prosper  as  to  all  things,  and  be  in  health.'; 
Thus  you  see  the  Apostles,  holy  as  they  were,  did  not  think  they 
were  guilty  of  derogating  from  any  of  the  divine  perfections  in 
asking  the  inte; cession  of,  or  in  praying  for  others.  Neither 
are  we  guilty  of  derogating  from  the  perfections  of  God,  when 
we  ask  one  another's  prayers ;  why,  then,  should  we  be  guilty  ol 
derogating  from  any  of  the  divine  perfections  of  God  by  apply- 
ing to  the  intercession  of  his  saints  and  friends  in  Heaven  1" 

"But,  Sir,  you  offer  up  Masses  to  the  saints;  is  not  that  a 
most  curious  and  extraordinary  thing V  said  Sefton;  "does 
not  one  constantly  hear  of  the  Mass  of  a  martyr,  the  Mass  of 
this  saint,  the  Mass  of tRat  saint;  how  can  you  possibly  explain 
that  V 

"If  you  had  ever  read  the  Council  of  Trent,  Mr.  Sefton,  you 
would  have  met  with  the  answer  to  your  difficulty  there;  it  says 
expressly  'Although  the  Church  does  sometimes  offer  up 
Masses  in  honour  and  in  memory  of  the  saints,  yet  it  is  not  to 
them,  but  to  God  alone  who  has  crowned  them,  that  the  sacrifice 
is  offered  up;  there  the  Priest  does  not  say,  I  offer  up  this  sac- 
rifice to  thee,  Peter,  or  to  thee  Paul ;  but  to  God  Himself,  giving 
thanks  to  Him  for  their  victories,  imploring  their  patronage,  that 
they  may  vouchsafe  to  intercede  for  us  in  Heaven,  whose  mem- 
orv  we  celebrate  on  earth.'  "§ 

"  Is  that  really  in  the  Council  of  Trent  V  said  Sefton. 

"Most  certainly  it  is,"  answered  the  Father. 

"  It  is  rather  strong,"  observed  Selton. 

"  Yes,"  continued  Father  Oswald  ;  "  every  Altar  in  the  cata  • 
combs  is,  in  truth,  a  monument  to  some  sacred  hero;  hence,  to 
this  day  the  relics  of  some  martyrs  must  be  deposited,  in  what 
is  called  the.  sepulckrum  of  every  Catholic  Altar  at  its  consecra- 
tion, and  the  centre  of  the  Altar  must,  in  every  case,  be  of  stone. 
Thus,  in  the  older  Basilicas,  and  in  many  modern  churches,  the 
great  Altar  is  almost  always  in  the  form  of  a  sarcophagus  or  se- 
pulchral urn,  and  generally  contains  the  ashes  of  some  ancient 
martyr:  this  practice  of  honouring  and  praying  to  the  saints  is 
as  ancient  as  Christianity,  as  is  evident  from  the  testimony  of 

*  Cone  Trid.  Sess.  25.  t  Rom.  xv.  30. 

t  2  John  iii.  0  Cone.  Trid.  Sess.  22,  c.  3 


FATIIEll  OSWALD.  277 

Jie  holy  Fathers  in  all  ages.  St  Dionysius,  a  disciple  o(  the 
Apostles,  affirms  with  the  divine  Scripture,  '  that  the  prayers  of 
the  saints  are  very  profitable  for  us  in  this  life,  after  this  man- 
ner •  when  a  man  is  inflamed  with  a  desire  to  imitate  the  saints, 
and,  distrusting  his  own  weakness,  betakes  himself'  to  an}' 
saint,  beseeching  him  to  be  his  helper  and  petitioner  to  God  Cor 
him,  he  shall  obtain  by  that  means  very  great  assistance."  '* 

"This  refers  to  the  very  first  ages  of  Christianity,"  said  Sef- 
ton  sighing.  "  Certainly,  I  must  own  there  is  nothing  like  su- 
perstition in  what  St.  Dionysius  says." 

"To  be  sure  there  is  not,"  said  Father  Oswald  smiling;  "  i? 
can  be  no  superstition  to  believe  that  the  saints  desire  our  salva- 
tion, because  God  desires  it.  It  can  be  no  superstition  to  be- 
lieve that  the  saints  know  our  thoughts  and  desires:  the  Scrip- 
ture declaring  that  the  repentance  of  the  sinner  on  earth  causes 
joy  among  the  blessed  in  Heaven.  Hence,  we  have  a  right  to 
e.xpect  much  from  the  protection  of  those  who,  by  the  Spirit  of 
God,  are  declared  to  be  appointed  ministering  spirits  for  our  sal- 
vation^ and  who  are  again  declared  to  have  power,  and  be 
rulers  of  nations.:  It  is  no  superstition  to  believe  that  the  inter- 
cession of  the  saints  in  Heaven  will  be  of  more  avail  towards 
deciding  the  fate  of  men  End  nations  than  the  intercession  ot 
len  mortals  would  have  been  in  deciding  the  late  of  a  city,§  or 
the  intercession  of  one  man,  namely,  Job,  in  deciding  the  fate  of 
his  three  friends." 

"I  never  imagined,"  said  Sefton  musingly,  "  there  was  s< 
much  to  be  found  in  Scripture  in  favour  of  the  intercession  01 
saints." 

u  Nevertheless,  it  is  perfectly  true,"  observed  Father  Oswald. 
"  The  Apostles'  Creed  also  makes  mention  of  the  'Communion 
of  Saints  ::  it  is  the  nimh  article  of  said  creed.  Pray,  will 
you  tell  me  which  Church  it  is  that  really,  and  not  in  words 
alone,  holds  this  'Communion  of  Saints'  in  every  sense  •'.!'  the 
vrord  V 

"  Why,  I  suppose  it  is  the  Catholic  Church,"  said  Sefton 
smiling;  "  .t  looks  like  it." 

"Yes;  it  is  the  Catholic  Church,  most  undoubtedly,"  said 
Father  Oswald.  "  Protestants  little  know  the  advantages  and 
comforts  they  deprive  themselves  of  by  denying  this  article  of 
the  very  same  creed  which  they  themselves  constantly  repeat, 
and  which  they  have  retained  from  the  Catholics  through  all 
the  changes  of  their  ritual ;  they  little  know  what  they  deprive 
tnemsel  ves  of  in  refusing  to  make  the  friends  of  God  their  friends, 

*  Eccles.  Hicrarch.  c.  7,  part  3,  sec.  3. 
f  HG'O.  i.       ^  ;  Apoc.  ii.  $  Gen.  xviii. 


27S  FATHEH  OSWALD. 

those  holy  anil  heroic  beings  whom  we  hope  one  day  to  meet 
in  Heaven,  and  along  with  them  to  praise  God  1'or  a  whole 
eternity." 

Sel'ton  was  silent. 

"  There  is  a  beauty  and  harmony  in  the  '  Communion  ot 
Saints,'  "  continued  Father  Oswald,  "ot"  which  heretics  have 
no  idea;  this  communion  is  one  of  the  many  links  which  con- 
nect the  Church  Militant  on  earth  with  the  Church  Triumphant 
in  Heaven,  in  the  same  manner  as  the  Church  suffering  in  Pur- 
gatory is  connected  with  the  Church  Militant  on  earth  bv  means 
of  the  prayers  and  suffrages  we  continually  offer  for  our  depart- 
ed fellow-members  there." 

"  If  the  miracle  of  St.  Januarius  should  really  be  a  miracle 
and  actually  take  place,"  said  Setton,  "  no  doubt  it  would  fully 
confirm  all  you  have  said,  and  that  too,  in  the  strongest  and  most 
undeniable  manner;  for  God  never  would  so  far  betray  his  crea- 
tures as  to  work  a  miracle  in  support  of  error." 

"  Decidedly  not,"  said  Father  Oswald,  "  it  would  be  blas- 
phemy to  assert  it.  If  the  miracle  of  St.  Januarius  is  a  real 
miracle;  and  if  it  actually  takes  place,  'the  Communion  of 
Saints'  is  art  article  of  faith,  and  the  Roman  Catholic  Church, 
as  you  designate  it,  is  the  only  One,  Holy,  Catholic,  and  Apos- 
tolic Church,  which  Jesus  Christ  founded  on  earth,  and  to  which 
he  gave  his  solemn  promise  that  he  never  would  forsake  her,  or 
suffer  the  gates  of  Hell  to  prevail  against  her.  All  I  ask  of  you, 
my  dear  friend,"  continued  Father  Oswald — his  fine  counte- 
nance lighting  up  with  zeal  and  charity — "is  to  go  and  judge 
for  yourself:  go  and  see  the  miracle,  and  then  come  back  and 
tell  me  what  you  think  of  it." 

Sefton  felt  much  affected ;  he  took  leave  of  Father  Oswald 
with  strong  emotion ;  and  alter  he  had  reached  his  lodgings, 
mused  deeply  for  some  hours  on  the  conversation  that  had 
passed;  nor  did  he  fail  earnestly  to  implore  light  and  assistance 
from  Heaven  in  his  present  agitation. 


FATHER  OSWALD.  279 


CHAPTER    XXX  VII. 

'  What  weight  of  ancient  witness  can  prevail, 
If  private  reason  hold  the  public  scale  ? 
But  gracious  God !  how  well  (lost  Thou  provide, 
For  erring  judgments,  an  unerring  guide  !" 

I)HYDEN. 

Iv  a  lew  days  alter  the  conversation  recorded  in  the  last 
chapter,  Sefton  set  off  for  Naples ;  he  offered  a  place  in  his 
travelling  carriage  to  Monsignore  Guidi,  by  whom  the  invita- 
tion was  accepted  with  much  pleasure.  The  Bishop,  with  his 
wife  and  children  in  the  family  coach,  formed  the  rest  of  the 
party.  As  they  passed  the  rich  vale  of  Kelletri,  Sefton  and  the 
Captain  pleasantly  recounted  the  incidents  of  their  late  adven- 
ture in  the  surrounding  chain  of  mountains.  The  peculiar  iea- 
tures  of  the  Pontine  Marshes,  with  only  here  and  there  a  herd 
of  buffaloes,  or  a  solitary  sportsman  with  his  gun,  breaking  the 
lonely  stillness  of  the  scene,  interested  them  much.  Thev  slept 
at  Terracina,  and  the  Captain  and  Sefton  climbed  the  magnifi- 
cent rockv  height  which  overhangs  the  town.  Gaeta,  Fondi. 
Sessa,  and  Capua,  were  all  explored  with  pleasure  and  interest. 
The  beautiful  Bay  of  Naples  was  hailed  with  rapture  by  the 
travellers  as  it  burst  on  them  in  all  its  unrivalled  gloVy  at  the 
end  of  their  journey,  and  they  could  not  weary  of  gazing  at  il 
from  the  windows  of  the  "  Crocelle,"  where  they  fixed  their 
abode.  The  first  weeks  of  their  visit  to  Naples  seemed  to  fly 
with  incredible  speed  in  the  ever-varying  novelties  of  that  lively 
Tapital.  The  whole  time,  from  morning  till  night,  was  taken 
iip  visiting  churches,  museums,  and  shops,  or  in  making  excui- 
Mons  in  the  vicinity  to  Vesuvius,  Pompeii,  and  Herculaneum. 
One  week  was  dedicated  to  the  more  distant 'expeditions  oi 
Pestum,  Nocera,  Salerno,  Castellamare,  and  Soroento.  Al 
Nocera,  they  visited  the  shrine  of  St.  Alfonso,  and  they  saw  and 
conversed  with  several  people  who  knew  and  remembered  that 
holy  Bishop  when  living.  A  delightful  day  was  passed  at  Ben- 
evento,  where  there  exists  the  celebrated  triumphal  arch,  erected 
in  honour  of  Trajan,  now  called  Porta  Aurea,  being  used  as 
one  of  the  gates  of  the  city.  Nola  much  interested  them,  par- 
ticularly Sei'ton,  who  purchased  there  many  valuable  additions 
to  a  collection  of  Etruscan  vases  which  he  was  making;  several 
very  curious  ones  being  foui.d  in  the  excavations  in  its  vicinity. 
Monsignore  Guidi  suggested  (hey  should  go  thence  to  Mugnano, 
where  he  promised  to  show  them  many  interesting  things  at  lh<? 


280  FATHER  OSWALD. 

shrine  01  St.  Filomerut,  and  also  many  beautiful  views  in  the 
neighbourhood;  they  accordingly  went,  and  the  whole  aspect  ut 
the  country,  and  the  splendid  mountain  scenery  around  Mugnano 
strongly  reminded  Sefton  of  the  beautiful  views  round  the  Cum- 
berland and  Westmoreland  lakes:  not  unmixed  with  melan- 
choly, for  it  recalled  to  his  mind  the  first  months  after  his  mar- 
riage which  he  had  spent  there  with  E;nma  :  his  poor  Emma! 
irhom  he  had  abandoned  and  left  far  from  him.  Monsignore 
Gnidi  conducted  them  to  the  pretty  little  church  containing  the 
.shrine  of  St.  Filomena,  and  to  which  numbers  of  devout  people 
from  all  parts  of  the  world  resort.  The  body  of  this  young 
martyr  was  discovered  in  the  catacombs  in  Rome,  and  the  num- 
bers of  extraordinary  cures  which  have  been  wrought  through 
her  intercession  have  rendered  her  shrine  very  celebrated:  there 
the  blind  have  been  restored  to  sigh,.,  and  the  cripple  instantane- 
ously cured.  Seldom  have  any  applied  in,  vain  to  this  saint  to 
obtain  relief  from  God  in  their  necessities,  whether  spiritual  or 
temporal.  Numbers  of  living  witnesses  attest  her  kindness  and 
her  power.  The  wonders  Sefton  heard  and  saw  in  Mngnanc 
recalled  to  his  mind  his  visit  to  St.  Winefred's  Well,  in  Flint- 
shire, and  he  could  not  help  remarking  to  Monsignore  Guidi 
"that  it  was  only  amongst  Catholics,  and  ia  Catholic  times, 
that  these  extraordinary  interpositions  of  a  supernatural  Provi- 
dence in  succouring  the  siclc  and  helpless  were  ever  heard  of." 

"  Yes,"  answered  Monsignore  Guidi ;  "  God  does  not  work 
miracles  in  favour  of  Protestants.  Heretics  have  not  the  J'aiL'i 
which  merits  and  obtains  these  supernatural  interpositions  of  a 
kind  and  watchful  Providence;  but  observe,  my  dear  Sefton, " 
continued  he,  "  what  fine  religious  and  poetical  justice  there  is 
in  the  fact,  that  these  two  young  and  tender  virgins,  St.  Wine- 
fred  and  St.  Filomena,  who  sacrificed  their  lives  in  defence  ot 
their  faith  and  their  chastity,  should  now  be  celebrated  through 
the  whole  world — through  that  world  where  they  were  -when 
living  humbled  and  martyred — and  that  there  influence  with 
God,  for  whom  they  sacrificed  every  thing,  should  be  testified  to 
us  by  their  works  of  mercy  and  of  love." 

Sefton  was  silent,  and  mused  on  what  he  had  seen  and  heard 
;;  11  the  way  back  to  Naples. 

Arother  excursion  which  gave  the  party  great  and  varied 
pleasure,  consisted  in  sailing  across  the  bright  and  sunny  Bay 
:o  Capri,  and  its  blue  grotto,  thence  visiting  the  beautiful  islands 
of  Procida  and  Ischia,  and  returning  to  Naples  by  Basia,  Cuma, 
and  Puzzuoli.  The  days  flew  like  hours  in  these  lovely  and 
classic  spots,  which  recalled  to  the  gentlemen  the  strains  ot 
Virgil,  and  the  lays  of  Silius,  Martial,  and  Sannazarius,  while 


FATHER  OSWALD.  291 

the  lucid  softness  and  glassy  smoothness  of  the  sea,  with  its 
beautiful  bays  and  inlets,  enchanted  the  whole  parly. 

At  Ischia,  they  all  ascended  the  Epomeus,  or  Monte  San  Ni- 
cole, as  it  is  general!}  called,  and  their  toils  were  amply  re- 
v.rarded  by  the  extraordinary  extent  and  beauty  of  the  panora- 
mic view  around  them.  The  Bishop  was  very  anxious  to  ex- 
amine the  bathing  house  at  Casamiocia,  a  charitable  establish- 
ment, where-the  sick  and  destitute  from  Naples  are  brought,  if 
their  maladies  require  the  salutary  baths  of  Ischia.  These  in- 
valids are  provided,  free  of  expense,  with  food  and  lodging,  in 
an  hospital  near  the  bathing-house,  for  three  weeks,  and  then 
sent  back  to  Naples  at  the  expense  of  the  establishment.  Ever* 
Mrs.  Boren  acknowledged,  that  nothing  but  an  heroic  Christian 
charity  could  have  founded  and  supported  such  an  institution. 
At  Puzzuoli,  amongst  the  many  profane  and  sacred  relics  of  an- 
tiquity which  they  were  shown,  the  exact  site  of  the  martyrdom 
of  St.  Januarius  was  pointed  out  to  them,  and  also  that  where 
he  was  exposed  to  the  fury  of  the  wild  beasts;  as  Sefton  seemed 
much  interested  on  this  subject,  and  asked  the  guide  many 
questions,  the  latter  insisted  on  taking  him  to  a  convent  of  Capu- 
chins, not  far  from  Puzzuoli,  where  the  stone  on  which  thesainl 
was  decapitated,  and  which  is  marked  with  his  blood,  is  still 
preserved. 

The  Bishop  and  his  lady  made  many  objections  to  going  out 
of  their  way,  especially  as  it  was  getting  near  dinner  time, 
"merely,"  as  they  observed,  "to  look  at  a  stone,  which  was 
most  probably  after  all  not  genuine,  and  nothing  more  curious 
in  it  than  in  any  other  stone."  But  Selton's  curiosity  had  been 
routed,  and  he  was  determined  at  all  events  to  see  what  was  to 
be  seen.  Mensignore  Guidi  said  he  would  willingly  accompany 
him.  while  the  rest  of  the  part}'  drove  on  to  Naples,  to  see  aboul 
their  dinner.  Sefton  and  his  friend  reached  the  convent  by  a 
steep  ascent,  and  examined  at  their  leisure  the  slab  which  they 
nad  come  to  inspect.  The  Capuchins  pointed  out  a  part  of  it, 
which  is  of  a  red  colour,  said  to  have  been  so  stained  by  Ihe 
blood  of  the  martyr;  and  they  assured  Seiton,  that  Avhen  tht 
blood  of  St.  Januarius  liquefied  in  Naples,  this  stain  became  al 
'.he  same  moment  of  a  much  deeper  and  more  vivid  red.  Sefion 
looked  and  felt  very  incredulous ;  he  did  not,  however,  contra- 
dict the  good  religious  as  he  would  have  done  in  former  days, 
but  contented  himself  with  saying.  "  that  he  should  return  ami 
judge  for  himself  on  one  of  the  days  that  they  asserted  HwouKl 
take  place."  He  had  learnt  from  experience^  that  bold  den  iul 
does  not  produce  conviction,  either  in  the  speaker  or  the  listener ; 
tie.M'd'is,  he  had  determined  to  examine  the  whole  affair  of  lif 


282  FATHER  OSWALT). 

miracle  with  great  circumspection,  and  he  was  determine'!  t* 
keep  to  his  resolution.  During  their  drive  back  to  Naples,  Set- 
ton  was  so  silent,  that  Monsignore  Guidi  at  length,  took  out  his 
office  book,  and  was  on  the  point  of  beginning  his  devotions, 
when  Sefton  exclaimed,  "  I  had  no  idea  till  now  that  there  was 
uiiy  thing  known  about  this  Saint  Januarius;  I  think  the  guide 
said  he  was  martyred  under  Dioclesian  V 

i  "  Yes,"  answered  Monsignore  Guidi;  "his  martyrdom  took 
.  place  on  the  l£)th  of  September,  in  the  year  305;  he  was  then 
Irmly  thirty-three  years  of  age  ;  he  was  decapitated,  as  you  have 
heard.  Immediately  after  his  death,  his  body  was  carefully 
buried,  and  some  portion  of  his  blood  was  put  at  the  same  time 
int)  two  small  bottles,  M'hich  are  still  preserved,  as  are  also  his 
relics;  it  is  now  more  than  fii'teen  hundred  years  since,  and  the 
blood  is,  generally  speaking,  quite  hard  from  its  great  age,  but 
whenever  it  is  brought  into  the  presence  of  the  reiic  of  his  head, 
it  becomes  perfectly  liquid,  and  in  that  consists  the  miracie, 
which  you  have  no  doubt  heard  mentioned.  It  will  take  place 
in  a  lew  days,  and  1  trust  you  will  be  present  at  it." 

"  1  shall  certainly  go  and  see  what  is  to  be  seen,"  answered 
Sefton;  "but  as  to  its  being  a  miracle,  that  is  quite  another 
thing :  you  will  never  get  me  to  believe  that,  Monsignore ;  it  is 
all  a  trick,  you  may  depend  upon  it,  and  from  what  I  have  heard 
an-rl  read,  a  very  bungling  trick  too.'' 

"If  a  trick,"  replied  Monsignore  Guidi,  "it  is  very  odd  it 
should  never  have  been  found  out  during  so  long  a  period  r.s 
fifteen  hundred  years  and  more;  notwithstanding  the  numbers 
of  people  who  have  written  against  it,  who  have  denied  it,  whc 
have  derided  it,  who  have  insulted  it,  there  is  no  one  who  has 
been  able  to  prove  how  the  trick  is  performed." 

"  Oh !  the  priests  take  care  of  that,"  said  Sefton ;  "  it  is  theii 
interest  to  keep  the  people  in  ignorance,  and  not  to  have  it  pro- 
perly examined  into." 

"Then  you  assert,"  said  Monsignore  Guidi,  "that  all  the 
individuals,  clerical  as  well  as  secular,  who  have  had  this  blooa 
in  their  care  for  more  than  fifteen  hundred  years,  have  been  and 
are,  a  set  of  imposters  and  rascals,  and  that  in  ail  that  time 
there  lias  not  been  one  honest  man  amongst  them: — rather  a 
sweeping  assertion,  methinks  !  a  greater  miracle,  truly,  than  the 
liquefaction  of  the  blood  itself." 

•'Well,  however,"  said  Sefton,  looking  a  little  foolish,  "I 
make  no  doubt  if  the  tiling  were  properly  examined  into  by 
some  clever  chemist,  it  could  all  be  explained  and  accounted  foi 
on  natural  and  philosophical  principles." 

"  It  has  been  so  examined  by  many  able  chemists  and  learned 


FATHER  OSWALIJ.  283 

men,"  said  Moris-ignore  Guidi,  "and  especially  in  modern  limes 
by  a  very  celebrated  Neapolitan  chemist.'1 

"Oh!  those  were  all  Catholics;  I  would  not  give  a  fig  for 
such  testimony,"  said  Sefton  hastily. 

"  Indeed!"  said  Monsignore  Guidi  somewhat  surprised  at  his 
friend's  warmth,  1;  are  they,  too,  all  scoundrels  and  rascals  1" 

Sefton  bit  his  lip.  "I  would  much  prefer  the  testimony  of 
x>me  unbiassed  English  or  French  chemist,"  observed  he. 

"You  are  net  aware,  then,"  said  the  Prelate,  "that  it  has 
been  examined  by  a  countryman  of  your  own  1" 

"  No;  who  might  that  be  V 

"  Sir  Humphrey  Davy." 

"  Sir  Humphrey  Davy !  Really.  I  was  not  in  the  least  awanj 
of  ii ;  and  what  said  he  to  it  V 

"  He  said  it  was  impossible  to  account  for  it  by  natural 
means."  answered  Monsignore  Guidi. 

'•  Really !" 

"Yes,"  continued  the  Prelate,  "  that  celebrated  chemist  ex- 
amined it  with  the  greatest  minuteness  and  rigour.  He  was 
particularly  struck  with  the  different  manner  in  which  the  lique- 
faction takes  place  at  different  times,  the  same  natural  causes 
existing  around  it;  he  was  particularly  struck  with  the  lique- 
faction frequently  occurring  at  periods  when  the  external  acci- 
dents of  lime,  place,  heat,  and  cold  around  it,  were,  chemically 
and  philosophically  speaking,  in  diametrical  opposition  to  its 
liquefying  at  all ;  and  its  frequently  remaining  perfectly  hard 
r.nd  dry.  when,  according  to  natural  causes,  it  was  tnosl  likely 
it  should  liquei'y." 

"  But,"  said  Sefton,  "  what  is  the  use  of  its  liquefying  at  all  7 
what  is  the  use  of  such  a  miracle  taking  place  at  all.  supposing 
it  even  to  be  a  miracle  ]  I  ask  that  simple  question." 

"  You  might  as  well  ask  what  use  there  was  in  Christ's  walk- 
ing on  the  water,  or  in  raising  Lazarus  from  the  dead.  Miracles 
are  wrought  in  confirmation  of  the  true  faith.  This  standing 
miracle  speaks  volumes  to  the  learned  and  to  the  unlearned, 
who  know  full  well  that  the  Catholic  church  is  the  only  one  in 
which  miracles  have  ever  existed,  do  now  exist,  and  will,  ?<•- 
cording  to  the  promises  of  Jesus  Christ,  exist  to  the  end  of  m 
world.  St.  Januarius  shed  his  blood  in  confirmation  of  the 
true  faith,  and  his  blood  still  liquefies  to  attest  in  the  most  unde- 
niable manner  that  the  Catholic  faith  is  the  same  faith  now  as 
when  he  expired  in  its. defence." 

"Then  he  was  put  to  death  because  he  was  a  Catholic  V 
said  Sefton  thoughtfully. 

"  Certainly  he.  was  * 


2H4  FATHER  OSWALD. 

"  But  how  came  Naples  to  be  particularly  selected  tor  the 
performance  of  this  alleged  miracle." 

"Because  the  saint  was  a  citizen  of  Naples,"  answered  Mon- 
signore  Guidi,  'He  was  born  there  on  the  21st  of  ApVil,  in 
the  year  27'2,  unier  the  emperor  Aurelian.  About  two  years 
and  a  half  before  his  death,  he  was  consecrated  Bishop  of  Bene- 
vento,  and  it  was  in  consequence  of  his  ardent  charity  in  visit- 
ing and  assisting  the  persecuted  Christians  in  Puzzuoli  that  he 
was  imprisoned  under  the  Roman  governor,  Timotheus,  and 
sent  along  with  others  to  Nola,  which  we  lately  visited.  There, 
in  consequence  of  the  edicts  of  Dioclesian,  he  was  condemned 
to  a  fiery  furnace,  which,  by  a  miraculous  interposition  of  God, 
did  not  injure  him.  After  various  other  torments,  he,  with  other 
Christians,  was  condemned  to  accompany  on  loot  the  car  of 
Timotheus  from  Nola  to  Puz/.uoli,  a  distance  of  thirty  miles. 
Tiia  sufferings  of  these  poor  persecuted  Christians  must  have 
been  very  great." 

•'  Indeed  they  must,"  said  Sefton  compassionately.  "  I  see 
now  how  he  came  to  be  martyred  at  Puzzuoli." 

"  The  day  after  his  arrival  there,  he  was  exposed  to  the  fury 
of  a  number  of  famished  bears,  but  these  creatures,  forgetting 
their  natural  ferocity,  lay  down  at  his  feet,  licking  and  caressing 
(hem ;  this  so  enraged  the  Roman  consul,  that  he  ordered  Sr. 
Januarius  and  his  companions  to  be  beheaded,  which  order  was 
immediately  executed." 

"  I  certainly  had  not  the  most  distant  idea  so  much  WES  known 
about  him,"  said  Sefton,  "  it  is  always  interesting  to  gain  a 
/cnovvledge  of  facts." 

By  this  time  they  had  reached  Naples,  and  joined  the  rost  of 
the  party. 

The  first  Sunday  of  May  arrived  in  due  time,  and  Sefton 
accompanied  Monsignore  Guidi  to  the  Church  of  St.  Januarius, 
the  scene  of  the  miracle.  The  Bishop  declined  going,  excusing 
himself  on  account  of  the  heat :  the  Captain  declared  he  would 
not  miss  seeing  it  on  any  account ;  and  Mrs.  Boren  and  Lavinia 
went  out  of  idle  curiosity  to  see  a  sight.  The  little  chapel,  rich 
in  beauty  and  treasures,  in  which  the  head  and  blood  of  St. 
Januarius  are  kept,  is  on  the  right  going  up  the  cathedral,  and 
•is  called  the  "  Tesaro."  The  chaplains  who  officiate  there  are 
rhosen  from  the  most  ancient  and  respectable  Neapolitan  fami- 
lies. These  clergymen  also  have  charge  of  the  relics  of  St. 
Januarius:  but  not  the  keys  of  the  depository  where  they  are 
kept.  One  of  the  keys  is  '••-pt  by  the  Cardinal  Archbishop  ol 
Naples,  and  the  other  by  ft  chosen  body  of  secular  noblemen, 
who  each  time  the  depository  is  opened,  depute  one  of  thcii 


FATHER  OSWALD.  SJ85 

number  to  be  present.  Monsignore  Guidi  was  acquainted  with 
several  of  the  chaplains,  and  they,  with  the  urbanity  which 
characterizes  them,  introduced  him  and  his  friends  within  the 
rails  of  the  sanctuary,  and  placed  Sefton  close  to  the  altar,  where 
ne  could  see  and  examine  every  thing  to  his  entire  satisfaction. 
Notwithstanding  all  his  efforts  to  subdue  it,  he  could  no!,  help 
feeling  a  certain  degree  of  anxiety,  and  a  sensation  of  awe  for 
which  he  could  not  account.  The  church  was  crowded  to  ex- 
cess; a  circumstance  that  surprised  Sefton  very  much:  but  what 
still  more  surprised  him,  was  the  evident  devotion  and  sincerity 
of  the  people.  At  length  the  Cardinal  Archbishop's  chaplain 
on  the  part  of  his  eminence,  and  the  deputy  nobleman  on  the 
part  of  his  body,  opened  the  depository  where  the  relics  are  kept, 
and  the  head  chaplain  of  the  Tesaro  took  out  the  two  small 
glass  bottles  which  are  both  fixed  in  a  frame,  and  which  contain 
the  blood  of  the  martyr  ;  they  examined  it  very  carefully,  and 
then  exhibited  it  to  be  examined  also  by  the  people.  Sefton 
observed  it  quite  near,  and  saw  that  one  of  the  bottles  was  about 
three  parts  lull  of  a  hard,  dark  substance,  like  congealed  blood, 
and  though  the  priest  who  held  it  turned  the  phial  up  side 
down  several  times  before  his  eyes,  the  blood  remained  as  hard 
and  as  firm  as  if  ic  had  been  part  of  the  bottle:  in  the  other 
and  smaller  phial  there  seemed  to  be  a  small  quantity  of  the 
dry  blood,  which  stained  its  sides.  The  blood  in  its  hard  state 
was  then  placed  on  the  right  side  of  the  altar,  and  the  relic  of 
the  head  of  the  saint,  which  is  enclosed  in  a  silver  bust,  being 
taken  from  its  depository  was  placed  on  the  left  side  of  the 
same  altar.  The  head  chaplain,  the  deputy  nobleman,  the  assis- 
tants, and  the  people,  then  recited  aloud  three  times  the  Apos- 
tles' Creed,  and  the  Miserere  Psalm:  the  blood  was  again  ex- 
amined and  Ibund  to  be  perfectly  hard;  the  Creed  was  then 
recommenced;  Se'ton  had  his  eyes  fixed  on  the  solid  blood, 
when  suddenly,  in  less  than  a  second,  he  beheld  the  hard  mass 
dissolve  and  liquefy  like  a  piece  of  ice  before  an  intense  fur- 
nace, he  turned  deadly  pale,  and  then  all  his  blood  seemed  to 
rush  to  his  temples,  and  he  hid  his  face  in  his  hands.  Mrs. 
Boren  stood  in  mute  astonishment  for  some  time,  and  then  ex- 
claimed, "  How  very  strange  !" 

"  Indeed  it  is,  Mamma  !"  rejoined  Miss  Lavinia  ;  "  I  wonder 
how  it  is  done." 

"By  the  power  of  the  Almighty,"  whispered  Mon-signote 
Guidi. 

The  chaplain  made  a  sign,  and  in  a  moment  the  joyful  notes 
of  the  "  Te  Deum  Laudarnus"  pealed  through  the  vaulted  do*ne 
of  the  sanctuary,  the  voices  of  thousands  resounded  through  H> 


286  FATHER  OSWALD. 

roof,  proclaiming  the  miracle ;   and   in   tones  of  the  deepest 
energy  and  pathos,  exclaiming.  "All  hail  to  the  true  and  only 

faith! all  hail  to  the  Catholic  religion!  May  the  true 

faith  live  for  ever  !"* 

Sefion  pushed  his  way  through  the  crowd,  and  left  the  church. 
He  returned  several  times  during  the  eight  days  which  the 
miracle  continues  to  take  place,  to  examine  the  state  of  the 
blood,  and  to  see  this  occurrence  at  different  times:  sometimes 
he  observed  the  blood  was  diminished  in  quantity,  and  some- 
times increased  so  much  that  the  bottle  was  entirely  full;  some- 
times it  was  perfectly  liquid,  and  of  a  deep  and  rich  red  colour ; 
at  other  times  it  was  hard  and  dark.  One  of  the  days  he  rode 
to  the  convent  at  Puzzuoli  to  observe  the  colour  of  the  stain 
upon  the  stone,  as  he  had  promised  to  do,  and  he  commissioned 
Monsignore  Guidi  to  note  the  exact  lime  the  liquefaction  took 
place  that  morning  in  Naples.  While  he  was  looking  at  the 
stone,  he  observed  the  stain  of  blood  become  evidently  of  a 
deeper  red  ;  and  on  taking  Monsignore  Guidi's  report,  he  found 
that  the  time  the  liquefaction  occurred  in  Naples  corresponded 
exactly  to  the  moment  in  which  he  had  seen  the  change  take 
place  in  the  stone  at  Puzzuoli;  and  he  spared  no  pains  in  ex- 
amining every  circumstance  connected  with  the  miracle  with  the 
greatest  minuteness  and  attention.  About  the  middle  of  May, 
having  seen  every  thing  worth  attention  in  and  about  Napli.-s, 
Sefton  and  Monsignore  Guidi  returned  to  Rome,  while  the  Bishop 
and  his  family  embarked  in  the  steam  vessel  ibr  Marseilles  m 
their  route  back  to  England. 


CHAPTER    XXXVIII. 

"  Who  by  repentance  is  not  satisfied, 
Is  not  of  heaven,  rior  earth." — SIUKSPEAKE. 

W.HEN  Sefton  arrived  in  Rome,  he  found  a  letter  in  the  post- 
office  from  Emma;  on  opening  it,  he  was  surprised  to  see  it 
dated  from  Weetwood,  the  seat  of  General  Russell.  In  it 
Emma  informed  him  that  her  uncle  having  teen  suddenly  seized 
with  an  alarming  illness,  he  had  sent  express  for  her,  and  that 

*  "  Viva  la  santa  fedo '.  ecco  la  sinta  fec.'c  !  Ecco  la  fede  Catolic*  ! 
V'rala  santa  fede  '" 


FATHER  OSWALD.  !&'• 

.-onsequently  she  hnd  immediately  gone  to  him.  and  was  then  ai 
Weetwood,  employed  in  nursing  him  ;  she  requested  Edwcrd's 
permission  to  liave  the  children  with  her,  entreating  an  early 
and  favourable  answer.  Sefton  sighed  as  he  re-folded  the  letter, 
for  it  had  been  some  weeks  in  Rome,  and  he  was  sure  this  in- 
i'oluntary  delay  in  answering  it  must  have  given  her  much 
anxiety  ;  he  was  greatly  annoyed,  too,  at  the  idea  of  her  having 
had  to  make  the  journey  from  Devonshire  to  Weetvvood  ale  no, 
though  he  was  painfully  aware  he  had  no  one  but  himself  to 
blame.  He  immediately  wrote  to  his  wife,  expressing  his  ap- 
probation of  her  sojourn  with  the  General,  but  with  much  of  his 
former  pertinacity  in  maintaining  what  he  considered  his  right 
as  a  father,  forbidding  her  to  think  of  moving  the  children  fiom 
the  cottage  in  Devonshire,  an  '.  desiring  her  to  remain  with  her 
uncle  until  she  heard  i'rorn  him  again.  Seiton  remained  about 
a  fortnight  longer  in  Rome,  and  then  left  it  with  heartfelt  regret. 
Who  ever  left  Rome  without  regret!  there  is  in  this  city  of  the 
soul,  something  which  imperceptibly  intwines  itself  around  the 
heart  and  feelings,  and  no  one  who  has  felt  its  mysterious  influ- 
ence can  leave  it  without  sorrow,  or  unsoothed  by  a  secret  hope 
of  again  re-visiting  its  eternal  walls.  Seiton  pursued  his  travels 
along  the  sliores  of  the  Adriatic,  passing  by  Venice,  on  his 
route  to  Paris.  He  remained  there  a  few  days,  and  one  of  the 
first  things  he  did  was  to  go  to  the  hospital  where  he  had  been  so 
long  confined  by  sickness  to  inquire  for  Sister  Angela:  but  he 
was  Informed  Sister  Angela  was  no  longer  in  Paris,  as  she  had 
gone  with  some  other  sisters  to  found  a  convent  of  the  order  in 
America.  One  day,  as  Seiton  was  wandering  about  Paris,  lie 
entered  a  small  retired  church,  and  while  examining  the  pictures 
and  architecture,  he  observed  a  young  man  closely  engaged  in 
a  confessional :  he  had  some  vague  idea  that  he  md  formerly 
seen  or  known  that  person,  but  though  he  tried  to  recoHcct  who 
it  might  be,  he  could  not  fix  the  identity.  Se!ton  was,  however, 
sln.ick  with  his  demeanour,  and  retiring  behind  a  pillar  to  ob- 
serve him  further,  he  saw  him  bend  lowly  down,  and  beat  his 
breast  with  unfeigned  humility:  shortly  the  penitent  rose;  a 
glow  of  fervour  shone  on  his  serene  brow,  his  eyes  were  humbly 
cast  towards  the  ground,  and  the  big  tear  trickled  down  his 
emaciated  cheek.  Seiton  instantaneously  recognized  Le  Sage  ; 
hut,  oh!  how  changed!  When  Sei'lon  was  in  Paris  before,  he 
had  o:ten  observed  a  gloomy  melancholy  spread  over  the  coun- 
tenance of  this  young  man,  even  in  the  midst  of  the  gayest 
scenes;  he  li ad  observed  the  sudden  start  and  rapid  change  ol 
features,  the  knitted  brow,  the  supercilious  scowl,  the  haggard 
eye,  the  curled  lip,  the  convulsive  quiver  of  the  muscles  of  his 


288  FATHER  OSWALD. 

mouth,  the  rapid  motions  of  his  head,  the  hurrid  gait,  and  many 
other  traits,  that  by  fits  betrayed  a  heart  ill  at  ease,  and  the  war- 
ring passions  of  an  agitated  soul.  Now  it  seemeJ  quite  other- 
wise. Seilon  observed  in  him  a  placid,  though  care-worn  coun- 
tenance, a  calm  brow,  a  chastened  eye,  a  smile  of  contentment 
on  his  '.ips,  a  firm,  manly  step,  and  a  meek,  humble  demeanour, 
that  bespoke  the  joy  and  peace  which  then  possessed  him. 
Le  Sage  withdrew  to  a  retired  altar,  and  there  poured  cut  his 
soul,  in  fervent,  but  silent  thanksgiving  to  his  God  and  Saviour. 
Sel'ton  looked  at  him  with  intense  interest  for  some  time,  un- 
willing to  interrupt  the  ardour  of  his  devotions.  At  length 
Le  Sage  rose,  and  Sefton  suddenly  presented  himself  before  him. 
Le  Sage  started,  as  if  he  had  seen  an  inhabitant  of  the  grave 
rise  up  before  his  astonished  sight,  for  he  thought  Sc!ton  had 
been  slain  in  the  dreadful  affray  on  the  Boulevards;  but  being 
soon  satisfied  that  his  friend  was  still  amongst  the  living,  he 
clasped  his  hands  together,  and  in  a  low,  but  audible  voice, 
thanked  God,  who  had  so  mercifully  relieved  his  conscience 
from  a  most  oppressive  burden,  for  he  had  ever  reproached  him- 
self as  the  murderer  of  his  friend,  and  the  chief  cause  of  his 
eternal  perdition.  He  took  Sefton  by  the  arm  and  led  him  out 
of  the  church.  For  a  while  the  friends  walked  on  arm  in  arm, 
in  silence.  Sefton  was  lost  in  astonishment,  and  many  subjects 
were  rapidly  revolved  in  those  lew  moments  in  Le  Sage's  mind, 
who  at  length  broke  silence : — "  My  dear  Sefton  !"  said  he,  "  I 
know  not  what  you  may  say  or  think  of  me  :  perhaps  you  will 
contemn  and  despise  me,  but  it  matters  not.  I  feel  I  have  an 
imperative  duty  to  perform,  and  no  false  pride,  no  selfish  leeling, 
shall  hinder  me  from  doing  it." 

"  What  do  you  mean,  my  dear  friend  1"  exclaimed  Sefton  still 
more  astonished. 

"  Listen  to  me,  Sefton."  said  Le  Sage  earnestly ;  "  I  have 
deeply  injured  you,  and  my  conscience  tells  me  that  I  am  bound 
to  repair  the  injury  to  the  best  of  my  power.  Alas !  have  I  not 
been  guilty  of  the  blackest  hypocrisy,  by  boasting  of  that  im- 
piety which  the  firm  conviction  of  my  soul  belied  1  Towards 
you  I  haw;  acted  as  the  basest  villain,  or  rather  as  an  envious 
demon,  for  I  sought,  and,  alas !  perhaps,  I  too  well  succeeded 
in  tearing  asunder  that  slender  tie,  which,  till  then,  had  held 
you  to  Christianity.  I  introduced  you  to  the  worst  of  wretches, 
to  the  very  scum  of  society;  and  if  I  have  not  succeeded  in. 
hurrying  your  soul  into  perdition,  it  is  a  special  merrv  of  God  ;'• 
— then,  letting  go  Sefton 's  arm.  he  paused  a  moment,  and  droop- 
ing his  head  in  confusion,  while  deep  regret  was  depicted  on 
his  expressive  countenance,  he  continued^  "now,  Selton,  re- 


FATHER  OSWALD.  289 

proach  me  as  you  please,  call  me  wretch,  hypocrite,  vi..ain, 
demon,  cast  me  off",  spurn  me  from  you;  I  have  deserved  all 
your  contempt — only  tell  me  you  forgive  me,  and  I  shall  then 
die  content." 

Seilon  was  deeply  affected  by  this  unexpected  burst  of  an 
humbled  and  contrite  heart ;  but  he  felt  most  intensely  from  the 
inward  reproach  of  his  own  conscience;  if  a  passing  acquaint- 
ance, a  stranger  almost,  could  condescend  to  such  humiliation 
in  reparation  of  crimes,  which  he  felt  to  be  more  than  mutual, 
what  reparation  was  not  due  for  the  injuries  inflicted  on  an  in- 
nocent wife.  At  length,  summoning  courage,  he  took  Le  Sage's 
hand,  and  in  broken  accents  said,  "  Let  us  think  no  more  of  the 
past;  you — I — we  have  both  acted  foolishly — nay  wickedlv. 
We  must  look  to  God  lor  pardon.  You  are,  I  perceive,  a  changed 
man.  Perhaps,  you  have  already  made  your  peace  with  the 
Almighty.  I  loo  think  differently  on  many  points  to  what  I  did 
when  you  last  saw  me  ;  but  will  you  not  now  tell  me  how  so 
wonderful  a  change  in  you  was  brought  about  ?" 

"Willingly,"  replied  Le  Sage  sighing.  By  this  time  they 
had  reached  his  house.  "  Will  you  not  enter  V  said  he.  "  My 
lather  and  sister  are,  alas!  now  no  more: — I  am  its  only  in- 
habitant." 

Selton  entered,  and  when  they  were  seated  in  the  solitary 
saloon,  which  he  had,  within  less  than  one  short,  circling  year, 
seen  lull  of  life,  and  gaiety,  and  beauty — all,  all  now  gone— 
Le  Sage  told  him  all  that  had  happened  since  they  last  parted. 

"  On  the  last  of  those  dreadful  days,"  said  he,  "  which  you, 
my  dear  Sefton,  have  too  much  reason  to  remember,  I  was  dan- 
gerously wounded  and  carried  off  the  Boulevards  by  my  detes- 
I'able  associates.  I  was  very  nearly  dying,  and  in  those  awful 
moments  the  fear  of  death  recalled  to  my  mind  my  early  princi- 
ples of  faith,  and  also  the  happy  and  blessed  death-bed  upon 
which  I  had  witnessed  my  excellent  mother  expire.  All  her 
admonitions  came  then  with  lull  force  to  my  remembrance,  and 
were  as  so  many  daggers  to  my  heart.  1  asked  to  see  a  priest, 
but  my  companions  got  about  me.  In  vain  I  called  for  the  suc- 
cours of  religion;  while  they,  heartless  wretches,  lest  a  priest 
•hould  reach  me,  took  it  in  turn,  day  and  night,  to  walch  about 
me.  Yes !  they  prohibited  every  one  but  known  infidels  from 
approaching  me.  My  father  and  sister  had  fled  from  Paris,  and 
I  soon  after  was  told  of  his  death;  then  it  was  I  gave  way  to 
despair.  Oh  Gcd !  I  cannot  recal  that  time,  and  ail  the  wild 
desperation  of  my  raging  blasphemies  and  deep  despair  without 
my  blood  running  cold  in  my  veins;  but  God  at  length  had 
mercy  on  me,  though  I  did  not  deserve  aught  but  chastisemenl 
25* 


«jyU  FATHKrt  OSWALD. 

at  his  hand.  An  old  and  thithfn!  servant  of  my  parents  got  by 
stealth  to  my  bedside.  I  whispered  in  his  terrified  ear,  :'  Bring 
me  a  priest,  that  he  may  .see  a  la  Is?  Christian  die  in  despair.' 
The  old  man  shuddered.  I  saw  the  shudder,  but  when  the  priest 
came,  I  placed  myself  like  a  child  in  his  hands,  and  pouring 
out  my  whole  soul,  with  the  sincere  contrition  of  a  true  penitent, 
I  humbly  sought  lor  mercy,  and  through  the  heavenly  aid  and 
consolation  of  the  minister,  I  trust,  I  was  reconciled  lo  my 
Creator.  The  agonies  of  despair  were  succeeded  bv  the  sweet- 
ness of  the  most  balmy  peace.  My  vile  infidel  seducers  were 
driven  from  the  house,  my  poor  little  orphan  sister  returned,  and 
I  slowly  recovered.  Alas!  a  few  months  after  she  went  tc 
Heaven,  and  I  am  now  alone  in  the  world.''  Le  Sage  dashed  a 
tear  from  his  eye  as  he  finished  his  touching  narrative.  "  You 
see,  my  dear  friend."  added  he  more  cheerfully,  "  the  immense 
importance  of  sound  principles  early  instilled  into  the  minds  of 
youth,  and  the  lasting  impression  they  make  even  amid  the 
greatest  temptations  and  trials  of  a  wicked  world.  Believe  me, 
Sefton,  no  religion  but  the  Catholic  religion  is  capable  of  stand- 
ing such  tests,  nor  of  converting  and  restoring  to  the  peace  and 
happiness  of  penitence  even  the  most  hardened  sinners;  there 
must  be  a  divine  foundation  for  the  religion  which  can  accom- 
plish that." 

Sefton  sighed.  "Tell  me,"  said  he,  "  do  you  know  anything 
of  a  Monsieur  La  Harpe ;  he  was  very  kind  to  me,  and  suc- 
coured me  when  I  also  was  wounded  in  that  detestable  affray : 
he  went  with  me  afterwards  to  Switzerland,  and  I  have  in  vain 
inquired  for  him  since  rny  return  to  Paris." 

"  He  has  changed  his  lodgings,"  answered  Le  Sage ;  "  but  I 
will  accompany  you  to  his  present  abode." 

They  went,  and  found  the  excellent  old  man  as  usual,  in  the 
midst  of  his  books.  He  was  overjoyed  to  see  Sefton  again,  and 
the  three  friends  did  not  separate  till  Scfton  had  made  them  both 
premise  that  they  should  all  meet  again  in  England  in  less  thai 
a  month  from  that  time. 


FATHER  OSWALD.  291 


CHAPTER   XXXIX. 

•"  Alas  .    or  those  that  love,  and  may  not  blend  in  prayer." 

jlEMANS. 

ANXIOUSLY,  for  many  long  weeks,  did  Emma  expect  an  an- 
swer to  the  letter  which  Sefton  had  found  in  the  Roman  Post- 
tiftice.  The  delay  made  her  very  uneasy.  At  length  the  \vished- 
!br  answer  arrived ;  but  when  she  had  read  it,  all  her  hopes 
were  dashed  from  her.  The  positive  refusal  to  grant  her  request, 
to  have  the  children  with  her,  opened  her  eyes  to  the  full  extent 
of  her  loneliness,  and  she  clasped  her  hands  in  silent  sorrow. 
From  Edward's  prolonged  absence  in  Italy,  she  had  almost 
begun  to  nourish  hopes  that  he  was  becoming  more  reconciled 
to  the  Catholic  religion,  or  at  least  that  he  would  allow  her  to 
practice  it  in  peace,  and  that  a  reconciliation  between  Ihetn 
would,  by  degrees,  be  brought  about;  but  the  lone  of  the  letter 
the  had  just  received,  seemed,  in  common  prudence,  to  forbid 
iier  any  longer  to  indulge  these  fond  and  flattering  hopes.  She 
went  to  her  uncle's  room,  and  placed  it  silently  in  his  hands;  but 
Ilie  air  of  grief  and  resignation  with  which  she  did  so,  went  tu 
the  General's  heart.  When  he  had  read  it,  he  retured  it  to  her 
with  a  desponding  shake  of  the  head 

"  I  do  not  like  it,  indeed,  my  dear  niece,"  said  lie ;  "  but  pul 
your  trust  in  Providence ;  God  will  not  forsake  you, — '  He  tern 
jiers  the  wind  to  the  shorn  lamb.'  " 

" My  poor  children!"  exclaimed  Emma  in  a  tone  of  heart- 
rending sorrow.  "Oh!  if  Edward  would  but  return;  if  J 
could  but  see  him  once  again  !  .  .  .  but  God's  will  be  done." 

"  God  grant,"  said  the  General,  "  that  I  may  soon  be  on  my 
legs  again,  and  I'll  be  off  to  Italy  myself,  after  this  renegade 
husband  of  your's ;  by  Jupiter,  I  will !" 

The  General  wns  just  recovering  from  a  pleurisy  and  inflam- 
mation of  the  lungs,  and  was  still  too  weak  to  leave  his  bed 
This  last  grief  of  Emma's  gave  him  great  annoyance,  and  he 
used  every  effort  tc  keep  up  her  spirits,  but  in  vain  ;  her  lieait 
sunk,  notwithstanding  her  efforts  to  the  contrary,  with  more  de- 
spondency than  ever.  She  was  perfectly  resigned  to  the  will  ol 
God,  but  she  felt  as  if  nil  her  hopes  of  happiness  in  this  world 
were  gone  forever.  About  three  weeks  alter  she  had  received 
lhat  painful  letter,  as  she  was  one  day  listlessly  sitting  in  one  <>i 
the  deep  oaken  recesses  of  the  spacious  saloon,  her  head  leaning 
on  her  hand,  and  grieving  at  the  absence  of  those  she  loved,  shr 
heard  some  one  near  pronounce  her  name;  she  turned,  and  be- 


292  FATHER  OSWALD. 

held  hei  husband  by  hci  side;  in  an  instant  she  was  in  his  arras, 
lie  held  her  so  long  and  so  tightly  to  his  beating  heart  that  it 
seemed  as  though  he  would,  in  that  embrace,  redeem  two  long 
years  of  separation;  at  length,  tears  came  ic  his  relief,  and  he 
exclaimed  in  impassioned  and  broken  accents:  "  My  own. — my 
beloved, — my  long-lost  Emma  !" 

"  Mercif  il  God  !"  said  she,  looking  up  and  fixingher  eloquen; 
ga/e  on  Edward's  eyes  as  though  she  would  read  her  late  in 
'.hem  ;  but  all  she  could  gather  1'rom  their  speaking  cxnression 
was  ardent  love,  mingled  wi:h  poignant  regret.  '•  You  love  me 
vet;"  said  she,  sinking  into  a  seat,  and  turning  as  pale  aa 
death. 

"  I  do — most  ardently,  most  tenderly;  I  have  ever  loved  you, 
even  when  you  imagined  me  alienated  from  you;  nay, the  very 
severity  which  I  have  shown  towards  you  sprung  from  the  most 
sincere  affection.  I  sought  nothing  but  your  happiness,  both  for 
time  and  for  eternity  ;  not  a  day  has  passed  since  we  parted  that 
[  have  not  thought  of  you  ;  prayed  for  you — flattered  myself  that 
my  prayer  would  be  heard;  that  the  day  was  not  far  distant 
when  we  should  again  be  uniied  in  one  faith  and  love."  He 
'.hen  drew  her  miniature  from  his  bosom, and  continued:  "This 
I  have  ever  worn  nearest  to  my  heart,  and  wept  over  it  daily ; 
twice  has  it  been  stolen  from  me  by  the  hand  of  violence;  twice 
nas  it  been  restored  to  me  bv  a  mysterious  dispensation  of  Provi- 
dence. I  took  it  as  a  token  that  my  long-cherished  hope  would 
not  be  frustrated." 

"  How  kind  is  that  in  you,  Edward  !  My  poor  prayers  have 
been  daily  offered  at  the  Throne  of  Mercy  for  the  same  object ; 
alas!  1  fear  I  am  unworthy  to  be  heard — I  have  always  hoped, 
and  will  still  hope,  even  against  hope." 

Whilst  she  was  uttering  these  last  words  her  eye  was  intense- 
ly fixed  on  the  medal  of  Our  Lady,  which  hung  exposed  on  the 
breast  of  her  husband.  When  he  drew  out  of  his  bosom  the 
miniature,  he  had  incautiously  brought  out  the  medal  with  it. 

"  Ah  !"  exclaimed  Sefton,  "you  are  gazing  on  that  toy;  it  is 
mining  but  a  keepsake  given  to  me  by  one  to  whom  I  am  deep- 
.v  indebted.  Sister  Angela,  who  wrote  to  you,  gave  it  to  me 
when  I  left  Paris,  and  bade  me  wear  it  for  her  sake.  It  was 
very  providential  that  I  accepted  of  it;  for,  see  this  deep  inden- 
'iire  in  it,  — it  was  made  by  the  stiletto  of  an  assassin,  who  aimeo 
a  deadly  blow  at  my  heart." 

Mrs.' Sefton  shuddered  with  horror:  "Oh!  my  love!"  said 
she  faintly,  "  and  you  never  to'd  me  of  this  fearful  danger." 

"  There  was  no  need,  dearest,  to  give  you  useless  pain,  I 
have  many  other  adventures  lo  tell  you,  but  first  let  me  hear 


PATHEK  OSWALD.  iR?J 

from  your  own  lips  the  sentence  which  must  decide  my  fate  and 
/our  own." 

"All  poor  Emma's  doubts  returned,  and  her  heart  seemed  as 
though  ii  would  buist  from  her  side.  At  this  moment  the  Gen- 
eral, whose  room  was  next  to  the  saloon,  hearing  the  voice  of  n> 
stranger,  called  loudly  for  his  niece. 

"  It  is  your  uncie."  said  Edward;  "poor  man !  take  me  tj 
him,"  and  he  followed  her  to  the  General's  bed-side.  The 
surprise  of  the  General  was  extreme,  and  his  reproaches  t»r 
Selton,  loud  and  just.  At  length,  Edward  contrived  in  some 
degree  to  appease  him  ;  besides,  it  is  difficult  to  be  apgry  long', 
at  the  moment  of  the  return  of  those  we  really  love.  Sefton. 
remained  at  Weetwood  till  the  evening,  and  then,  telling  his 
wile  that  business  of  importance  required  his  presence  at  home, 
he  left  them.  Emma  was  lost  in  perplexity  and  doubt :  he  had 
lold  her  that  he  had  seen  the  children  well  at  the  cottage  ir. 
Devonshire,  but  *he  did  not  dare  to  enquire  more;  she  seemed 
fenrful  of  losing  the  little  transitory  gleam  of  happiness  his  pre- 
sence gave  her,  by  any  question  which  might  dissipate  her  illu- 
sion. It  was  another  fortnight  before  her  uncle  was  able  If. 
leave  his  bed,  and  during  all  that  lime,  no  day  passed  in  which 
he  did  not  spend  some  hours  at  Weetwood  ;  he  seemed  much 
pre-occupied,  and  he  never  even  mentioned  the  children,  reli- 
gion, or  his  future  prospects.  He  had  frequent  conversations 
with  the  General,  and  Emma  observed,  that  after  these  conver- 
sations, her  uncle  was  more  serious  and  thoughtful  than  usual ; 
but  all  she  could  draw  from  him  were  vague  hints  to  be  resigned 
and  prepare  for  the  worst.  Emma  was,  consequently,  very  un- 
happy; each  day  she  counted  the  hours  which  would  probab  y 
elapse,  from  the  time  Sefton  luft  her,  till  his  probable  return  ; 
each  day  she  hoped  he  would  give  her  some  explanation,  and 
each  day  she  was  disappointed.  Edward  observed,  with  deep 
regret,  that  she  was  much  thinner  and  paler  than  when  he  had 
abandoned  her,  and  that  her  vivacity  was  quite  gone;  she  wa» 
as  kind  and  as  gentle  as  ever,  but  there  was  a  deep  shade  «V 
melancholy  in  her  soft  blue  eye,  which  had  not  previously  ex- 
isted there :  he  knew  too  well  it  was  his  own  fault." 

Oneday,  while  they  were  sitting  together  on  the  terrace  before 
the  house.  Edward  said  to  her  abruptly,  "Emma,  your  uncle 
has  been  ordered  to  try  change  of  air,  and  he  has  consented  to 
spend  a  week  at  Sefton  Hall ;  he  will  go  to-morrow,  and  you 
must  accompany  him;  and  there,"  added  he  with  a  sigh,  '•  1 
must  hear  you  finally  pronounce  upon  our  future  happiness  ex 
misery ;  I  must  hear  you  pronounce  from  your  own  lips,  whethei 


294  FATHER  OSWALD. 

we  are  to  live  together  in  peace  and  love,  or  whether  \ve  are  to 
L)e  separated  for  ever." 

"  Merciful  heaven« '."  exclaimed  Emma  with  the  deepesi 
emotion.  "Cruel  Edward — why  have  you  returned  to  awaken 
anew  my  love  for  you  •  why  have  you  returned  to  tear  open  ail 
(lie  deep  griefs  of  my  wounded  heart?'1 

Scfton  answered  not ;  but  with  a  stern  glance  hurried  from 
her.  She  burst  into  an  agony  of  grief,  and  ardently  prayed  tc 
God  to  give  her  strength  to  stand  firm  in  the  approaching  trial. 
Th;U  day  was  spent  in  tears,  and  grief,  and  anguish.  The  fol- 
lowing morning,  Edward  came  for-  them,  and  accompanied  them 
to  Seiton  Hail ;  he  seemed  much  rgitated.  Emma  scarcely 
dared  to  think,  much  less  trust  herself  to  speak;  everything  a) 
Se':u>n  seemed  to  her  in  the  same  state  as  when  her  husbnm" 
had  abandoned  her;  her  sitting-room,  and  her  (lowers,  seemed 
as  though  she  had  never  left  them  :  what  sweet  and  bitter  asso- 
ciations did  they  not  recal  to  her  mind;  and  then  the  though) 
thht  perhaps  she  should  in.  a  few  hours,  renounce  this  beautiful 
happy  home  lor  ever!  It  was  a  delicious  day  in  July,  arid  the 
air  all  balm;  in  the  evening,  Edwr.nl  led  her  into  the  grove 
where  there  was  a  bower,  adorned  and  entwined  around  with 
rich  clustering  lilacs  and  laburnum1-;  he  placed  her  on  a  bench 
by  his  side  :  "  Now,"  said  he  in  a  voice  tremulous  with  emotion, 
"  I  ask  you,  Emma,  for  your  final  decision.  Will  you  return  to 
the  Protestant  religion,  and  renounce  Catholicity  1  Take  time 
to  answer,  for  your  late  and  mine  depend  upon  it." 

Emma  paused  a  moment;  and  then  said  in  a  low.  bu1.  distinct 
voke.  in  tones  of  the  most  poignant  grief,  "I  cannot,-- 1  will 
not  renounce  Catholicity :  I  will  live  and  die  in  the,  one,  true, 
anil  only  faith  ;  "  but  I  shall  not  live  long,"  added  she  faintly, 
"  after  my  heart  is  broken."  Edward  compressed  his  lips :  "  And 
t\o'w,"  said  he  in  a  voice  chor.ked  wi:h  emotion,  and  drawing 
he'r  to  his  heart,  "  my  dearest  Emma,  I  must  now  tell  you  my 
irrevocable  decision.  We  will  both,  with  the  grace  of  God,  live 
arid  die  in  the  same  religion,  and  our  children  shall  be  brought 
up  Catholics." 

"  Howl"  said  Emma  scarcely  breathing. 

"  Because,"  answered  Edw:.rd,  •'  both  their  father  and  mot  he  i 
an;  Catholics." 

"  You,  Edward."  murmured  Emma. 

"Yes!  I  have  become  a  Catholic  like  yourself,"  answered  he. 

<: Gracious  God  be  praised!'  exclaimed  Emma;  "Thou 
hast  at  length  heard  the  long,  the  earliest,  the  tearful  prayer  ol 
thy  unworthy  handmaid:  "  but  oh  !  Edward,  my  own  love,  how 
could  you  try  me  so  V  said  she  in  a  voice  scarcely  articulate. 


FATHER  OSWALD.  295 

He  prevented  her  adding  more,  by  imprinting  on  her  pale 
.ips,  a  long  and  fervent  kiss;  he  kept  her  fragile  form  in  his 
;irms,  till  her  emotions  had  a  little  subsided,  and  theii  complete 
reconciliation  was  soon  maae.  '  Now,"  said  Edward,  with  the 
greatest  tenderness,  "  you  are  truly  the  tried  wife  of  my  bosom, 
and  I  will  take  you  to  our  children,  that  we  may  give  them  our 
blessing  together." 

He  led  or  rather  supported  her  to  the  house,  and  opening  a 
door  on  the  right-hand  side  of  the  hall,  he  whispered  io  her, 
"  Let  us  first  thank  God  for  His  unspeakable  mercies  to  us,  and 
then  I  will  place  the  children  in  your  arms."  He  drew  aside  a 
curtain,  and  Emma  was  surprised  to  find  they  were  in  a  l.-eau- 
fii'ul  little  chapel,  richly  hung  with  crimson  and  gold  drapery  : 
the  rays  of  the  evening  sun,  tinged  with  the  varied  colours  ol 
ihe  painted  glass  window,  played  on  its  marble  pavement.  The 
Messed  sacrament  was  exposed  in  a  rich  expository,  and  Failiei 
Oswald,  in  his  vestments,  was  kneeling  at  the  foot  of  the  altar; 
while  the  General  and  the  little  children  were  ranged  around. 
Kmma  sunk  on  her  knees,  and  covered  her  face  with  her  hands : 
Edward  knelt  by  her  side:  the  feelings  of  all  present  were  loo 
powerful  to  be  described.  Father  Oswald  intoned  ihe  "Te 
Deum  Laudamus,"  in  thanksgiving  for  the  signal  benefits  con- 
ferred upon  the  family,  and  immediately  strains  of  so't  tnusjc 
were  heard,  while  the  melodious  voices  of  some  juvenile  cho- 
risters swelled  its  strains  and  sung  also  the  Litanies  of  the 
Blessed  Virgin,  and  the  "  Tantum  ergo  Sacramentum."  Fi- 
nally, Father  Oswald,  with  feelings  of  the  strongest  piety  and 
gratitude  to  God,  gave  the  benediction  of  the  Blessed  Sacramem 
to  the  grateful  and  kneeling  group  around  him,  and  thus  con- 
duded  this  interesting  ceremony. 


CHAPTER    XL. 

•My  thoughtless  youth  was  winged  with  vain  desires. 
My  manhood,  Ion?  misled  by  wandering  fires,  > 

Followed  fal.se  lights,  and  when  iheir  glimpse  was  gone, 
My  pride  struck  out  new  sparkles  of  her  own  ; 
Uood  life  be  now  my  ta>k  :  <»v  clout. ts  are  done." — DRTDEN. 

THE  next  morning,  when  the  emotions  of  the  happy  circle  al 
Sefton  Hall  were  somewhat  subsided,  Edward  assembled  his 
family  and  guests  in  tlie  library,  and  gave  them  a  detailed  ay- 


WU  FATHER  OSWALD. 

count  of  his  travels  and  adventures  ;  at  the  recital  of  which,  tht 
auditors  were  by  turns  affected  by  tear,  joy,  delight,  admiratior 
and  gratitude.  Harriet,  who  had  witnessed  the  benediction  the 
preceding  evening,  had  been  delighted  with  the  whole  ceremony . 
but  the  six  handsome  candlesticks  which  adorned  the  altar  par 
tictilarly  struck  her  lancy.  She  wished  there  had  been  a  seventl 
to  make  up  the  exact  number  of  the  Apocalype;  when  the  sucl 
den  thought  came  across  her  mind,  that  the  absence  of  the  seventl 
might  be  a  warning  to  herself.  She  easily  recognized  in  the  six 
Mr.  and  jMrs.  Seiton  with  their  four  children  :  but  the  seventk 
—where  was  ill  and  she  trembled  lest  her '' candlestick  haC 
'hean  removed,"  and  resolved  to  consult  Father  Oswald  on  the 
lirst  occasion  about  its  meaning,  and  how  she  might  have  it  re- 
placed. She  now  listened  with  absorbing  interest  to  the  account 
•her  brother  gave  of  his  whole  progress  in  the  search  of  the  true 
lakh,  of  all  ins  doubts  and  diliiculties,  and  of  his  having  beer, 
at  length  convinced  of  its  existence  in  the  Catholic  Church,  by 
seeing  the  miracle  of  the  liquefaction  of  the  blood  of  St.  Janua- 
rius  in  Naples;  and  of  his  finally  embracing  it  in  Rome,  during 
the  fortnight  he  remained  there  after  his  visit  to  Naples. 

"  Yes,"  said  Father  Oswald  ;  "  I  had  the  unspeakable  happi- 
ness of  receiving  him  into  the  true  Church,  and  immediately 
after  that  J  returned  to  England.  I  should  have  called  on  you 
:long  ago,"  added  he,  addressing  Mrs.  Sel'ton,  "  had  not  your  hus- 
band wished  to  convince  himself  beyond  a  doubt  of  the  truth  ot 
your  unbiassed  sincerity,  and  surprise  you  with  the  beautiful 
'little  chapel  which  he  has  so  tastefully  fitted  up  for  you." 

Emma  smiled.  "  It  is  all  past  now,"  said  she,  casting  an 
Affectionate  glance  at  Edward, 

"Egad!  Sefton,"  said  the  General,  <:  you  stood  along  sieiio 
of  it!  I  suppose  you  would  never  have  surrendered  unless  St. 
Januarius  had  brought  up  his  artillery,  and  blown  up  your  citadel." 

"Was  it  really  the  miracle,  brother,  that  convinced  you  al 
last!"  said  Harriet  somewhat  timidly. 

"  Yes/'  answered  Seiton  ;  "  God  could  not  work  a  miracle  in 
confirmation  of  error,  and  I  clearly  saw  the  finger  of  God  at- 
testing his  acceptance  of  the  profound  veneration  which  Catho- 
lics pay  to  the  images  and  relics  of  his  saints.  Like  St.  Paul, 
the  scales  of  error  and  prejudice  fell  from  my  eyes;  '  I  saw— 
and  I  believed.'  " 

"Or,  rather,"  said  Father  Oswald  smiling,  "like  St.  Thomas. 
'  because  Hum  hast  seen  thou  hast  believed.  Blessed  are  they 
•  who  have  not  seen  and  have  believed.'  " 

Harriet  sighed,  and  said  half  aloud,  "  1  wish  I  could  hnve 
secu  also." 


FATHER  OSWALD. 


"What  astonishes  me  most,"  continued  Sefton,  "is,  that  al 
loubts  and  difficulties  have  been  swept  away  like  a  mist  from 
my  mind  ;  I  submit,  with  the  greatest  ease,  my  understanding  to 
the  dictates  of  faith,  and  readily  believe  every  'dogma  of  our 
holy  religion.  I  discover  daily,  new  beauties,  new  relations, 
new  connexions  between  the  several  articles,  all  combining  in 
one  harmonious  and  magnificent  whole." 

"It"  is  the  gift  of  faith,"  observed  Father  Oswald,  "whHi 
enlightens  the  understanding  to  behold  truth  in  its  naked  sim- 
plicity, inflames  the  heart  with  an  ardent  affection  for  it,  and 
strengthens  the  will  to  make  the  voluntary  homage  of  our  whole 
soul  to  the  infallible  word.  But,  believe  me,  this  first  great  gilt 
af  God  is  more  easily  obtained  at  His  hands  by  humble  prayer, 
»nd  an  entire  submission  to  the  guidance  of  His  Holy  Spirit^ 
than  by  a  proud  reliance  on  our  own  intellectual  powers  in  the 
war  of  controversy." 

"  I  feel  the  full  justice  of  your  remark,"  replied  Sefton.  "  As 
long  as  I  relied  on  my  own  resources  I  never  could  form  a  fixed 
opinion  on  any  subject:  faith,  I  now  find,  was  out  of  the  ques- 
tion. To-day  I  was  urged  to  the  very  threshold  of  faith  ;  to- 
morrow I  was  on  the  brink  of  infidelity;  but,  blessed  be  Gcd  ! 
I  am  no  longer  '  tossed  to  and  fro  by  every  wind  of  doctrine  :'  I 
nave  iourid  the  solid  rock,  on  which  I  can  anchor  my  frail  bark 
in  security  from  every  storm." 

"  Remember,  my  dear  Sir,';  said  Father  Oswald,  "  that  as  the 
gift  of  faith  is  a  grace  which  God  willingly  grants  to  the  humble, 
it  is  only  by  humility,  prayer,  and  diffidence  in  our  own  strength 
that  this  grace  can  be  preserved.  Although  I  exhort  you  t<j 
study  well  the  grounds  of  our  faith,  thereby  to  confirm  you  daily 
more  and  more,  yet  never  lose  sight  of  that  infallible  beacon 
which  God  has  given  us  for  our  direction." 

"  If  I  forget  thee,  O,  Jerusalem,  let  my  right  hand  be  forgot- 
ten ;  let  my  tongue  cleave  to  my  jaws'  if  1  do  not  remember 
thee  !'  exclaimed  Sefton  in  a  holy  burst  of  fervour.  "  Indeed, 
Father  Oswald,  you  cannot  conceive  with  what  different  senti- 
ments I  now  read  the  holy  Scriptures  ;  many  passages  which 
formerly  appeared  to  me  dark,  mysterious,  irrelevant,  and  even 
contradictory,  now  appear  clear,  intelligible,  and  beautifully  har- 
monizing with  the  dogmas  of  Catholic  faith.  But  it  is  not  from 
the  Scripture  I  have  received  the  greatest  confirmation  of  my 
iaith:  I  have  witnessed  its  effects  in  a  singular  manner  as  I 
passed  through  Paris."  He  then  related  to  them  the  extraordi- 
nary conversion  of  Le  Sage  ;  "  this  made  a  great  impression  on 
me,  added  he.  "  I  had  seen  the  u.-raculous  liquefaction  of  the 
blooa  of  St.  Januarius,  and  I  remained  convinced  :  it  was  the 


293  FATHER  OSWALD. 

testimony  of  God  to  the  truth  of  the  Catholic  faith  ;  but  had  1 
never  seen  that,  and  had  God  only  deigned  that  1  should  witness 
the  change  I  saw  in  Le  Sage,  I  should  have  confessed  that  the 
hand  of  the  Most  High  had  wrought  it.  This,  iudeed,  is  a 
miracle  of  grace  far  surpassing  the  former:  the  one  is  the 
triumph  of  Omnipotence  over  the  fixed  laws  of  matter,  the  other 
is  the  triumph  of  mercy  over  the  free,  but  perverted  will  of  man ; 
the  religion  which  can  produce  this  effect  must  be  divine." 

"  I  must  be  of  your  religion  also,"  exclaimed  Harriet,  burst, 
ing  into  a  flood  of  tears.  "  I  cannot  bear  to  be  the  only  wretched 
creature  in  this  happy  house." 

"  Be  calm,  sister,"  said  Sefton  kindly;  "every  thing  shall  be 
done  in  due  time ;  you  shall  be  instructed."  It  is  not  a  sufficient 
motive  to  become  a  Catholic  because  I  am  one ;  your  faith  must 
be  built  on  a  more  solid  foundation." 

"  Leave  that  to  me."  said  the  General ;  "  I  will  drill  her  so, 
that  in  a  few  days  she  shall  fall  into  the  ranks  with  the  best  of 
us ;  but  I  will  have  no  interlopers  in  the  camp,  so  we  will  begin 
by  drumming  out  of  the  regiment,  all  croaking  ravens  and  im- 
pertinent magpies." 

Harriet  smiled  her  approbation,  and  soon  dried  up  her  t«ars, 

All  remained  for  some  moments  silent,  musing  in  tranquil  ana 
grateful  happiness  on  the  wonders  they  had  heard. 

"  May  God  in  his  mercy  biesiyou !  my  children,"  said  Father 
Oswald,  rising  to  depart,  "and  give  you  many  long  and  happy 
years  to  love  and  serve  Him,  with  your  whole  hearts,  and  souls, 
and  minds,  in  the  one  true,  holv,  Catholic  and  Apostolic  Church, 
and  to  love  and  cherish  one  aiiomtr  with  pure  and  undivided 
affections." 

And  God  did  bless  them;  and, Edward  and  Emma  were  a 
thousand  times  dearer  to  each  other  than  they  had  ever  been 
before.  Emma  soon  recovered  her  loveliness  and  vivacity,  in 
the  peace  and  happiness  she  now  enjoyed.  The  General  spent 
his  declining  years  in  the  happy  and  united  family,  alternately 
at  Weelwood  and  Sefton  Hall.  In  a  good  old  age  he  was  gath- 
ered to  his  forefathers,  leaving  his  property — with  the  exception 
of  some  charitable  bequests  to  the  aged  poor  and  the  Catholic 
school  in  the  neighbourhood  of  Weetwood — to  Sefton's  second 
son,  who  took  the  name  of  Russel.  Harriet,  after  being  thor- 
oughly instructed  in  the  principles  and  practice  of  the  Catholic 
faith,  and  having  diligently  compared  them  with  those  of  the 
Reformed  doctrines,  became  fully  convinced  of  the  necessity  of 
entering  the  One  True  Fold,  and  prepared  herself  for  her  first 
Confession  and  Communion.  In  these  important  duties  she  was 
materially  assisted  by  her  amiable  and  intelligent  sister-in-law, 


FATHER  OSWALD.  299 

as  well  as  by  her  brother,  Mr.  Sefton,  who  was  both  delighted 
and  edified  to  find  Harriet  at  once  so  docile  and  so  determined. 

Having  made  a  general  Confession,  and  afterwards  a  Profes- 
sion of  Faith,  she  was  formally  received  into  the  bosom  of  the 
Catholic  Church,  and  approached  the  Holy  Communion,  de- 
voutly and  fervently  receiving  the  body  and  blood  of  her  Divine 
Redeemer  as  a  solemn  pledge  of  unswerving  fidelity  in  the  ob- 
servance of  His  holy  commandments  during  the  remainder  of 
her  life.  She  still  lives,  loved,  admired,  and  respected  by  all : 
anxiously  emulating  the  sincere  piety,  unbounded  charity  ana 
rare  virtues  of  her  amiable  sister,  whose  sublunary  happiness, 
Harriet's  conversion  seems  to  have  made  complete. 

Edward  and  Emma,  happy  in  the  midst  of  a  numerous  and 
an  interesting  family,  sedulously  trained  in  the  principles  and 
practice  of  every  moral  virtue  and  Catholic  piety — continue  1o 
reside  at  the  ancestral  Hall:  where,  it  is  the  anxious  prayer  o( 
their  happy  and  comfortable  tenantry  as  well  as  of  the  numer- 
ous poor  of  the  vicinity,  they  may  long  continue  to  reside,  to 
spread  the  sweet  odour  of  their  charity  and  good  works  around 
them,  in  the  blessed  hope,  that  as  they  lived  here  together  in 
ihc  profession  and  practice  of  the  true  Faith,  so  would  they  bo 
united  together  for  ever  in  the  bosom  of  their  God,  through  an 
endless  eternity  of  joy  and  happiness. 


rxi  »io 


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and  still  endure  in  this  and  other  countries,  for  the  salvation  of 
souls.  The  interesting  style  in  which  the  incidents  are  narrated 
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STANDARD  PRAYER  BOOKS, 

PUBLISHED  WITH  THE  APPROBATION  OP 
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SAINT  VINCENT'S  MANUAL, 

Originally  Prepared  for  the  use  of  the  Sisters  of  Charity. 

Is  Recommended  for  General  Use,  by  the  Must 
Reverend  the  Archbishop  of  Baltimore,  and  tho  Right  Reverend 
Bishops  of  the  U.  S.,  who  composed  the  VII  th  Provincial  Council, 
and  the  National  Council,  in  1802,  as  being  tho  most  COMPLETE, 
COMPREHENSIVE,  and  ACCURATE  CATHOLIC  PRAYER 
BOOK  published  in  the  United  States. 

ftJr-It  is  specially  Recommended  by  the  Right  Rev.  Bishops 
of  Montreal,  and  Toronto,  Canada. 

St.  Vincent's  Manual  is  an  Elegant  and  At- 
tractive volume,  printed  on  Fine  Paper,  Embel- 
lished with  Fine  Engravings,  and  bound  in  the 
most  Attractive  Styles.  It  is  the  Best  and  Most 
Complete  Prayer  Book  published.  Containing  only 
such  Prayers  and  Devotions  as  are  Approved  and 
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Standard  Prayer  Books, 

The  Key  of  Heaven.  A  Manual  of  Prayer. 
By  the  lit.  llev.  J.  MILNEH,  D.  D.  A  New  Edition, 
carefully  Revised  and  Enlarged.  480  pages,  32o. 

Jgsgp"'  All  the  principal  Devotions  are  in  large  type. 
Approbation  nf  the  Most  Rev,  Archbishop  SPALDING. 

Our  Examiners  of  Books  having  reported  favorably  to  Us  of  the 
lato  famous  Bishop  Milner's  Prayer  Book,  entitled  THE  KEY  OP 
HEAVEN,  and  having  Ourselves  carefully  examined  the  same,  and 
found  that  the  regulations  of  the  Holy  Sec,  in  reference  to  Litanies 
and  other  devotions  havo  been  fully  attended  to,  and  several  im- 
provements more  specially  adapted  to  the  wants  of  this  country 
introduced,  Wo  hereby  approve  of  its  publication  by  John  Murphy 
of  Our  City,  and  recommend  it  to  the  faithful  of  Our  Archdiocese. 

GIVEN  from  Our  Residence  in  Baltimore,  on  the  Feast  of  St. 
Charles  Borromeo,  Nov.  4th,  1S67.  MARTIN  JOHN, 

Archbishop  of  Baltimore. 

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This  new  edition  of  this  Popular  Standard  Prayer  Book  has 
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care,  from  a  clear  bold  type,  on  fine  paper,  and  may  justly  bo 
regarded  as  the  most  comprehensive  and  complete  Prayer  Book, 
of  its  size,  ever  issued  in  this  country.  Besides  the  collection  of 
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Standard  Prayer  Books. 

GeitlS  of  Devotion:  A  Selection  of  Prayers  for 
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This  is  a  new  and  enlarged  edition,  to  which  has  been  added, 
The  Office  of  the  Immaculate  Conception  of  the  C.  V.  51..  —  the 
Hymn  to  the  honor  of  Mary,  the  Virgin  Mother  of  God,  composed 
by  St.  Casmir,  in  Latin  and  English,  —  the  Devotion  of  the  Forty 
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complete,  as  it  is  universally  conceded  to  be  the  best  and  cheapest 
Miniature  Prayer  Book  published. 

Daily  Exercise  ;  A  neat  Miniature  Prayer  Book, 
consisting  of  the  Holy  Mass  and  Vespers,  with 
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added  a  Selection  of  Hymns,  Prayers  for  Confession, 
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Standard  Prayer  Books. 

Child's    Prayer    and  Hymn  Boole;    For 

the  use  of  Catholic  Sunday  Schools.  50th  edition, 
greatly  enlarged  and  improved.  This  little  work, 
compiled  by  an  eminent  Clergyman,  contains 
Morning  and  Evening  Prayers,  short  Prayers  at 
Mass,  Illustrated  with  86  Engravings.  Instruc- 
tions and  Devotions  for  Confession,  Communion, 
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children,  whether  in  the  Sunday  School,  or  on  other  occasions; 
and  its  extraordinary  cheapness  is  an  additional  consideration  in 
bespeaking  for  it  u  \vide  circulation."  U.  S.  C.  Mag. 

The  Catholic  Manual  for  Children. 

o'20  pages,  64o.    With  upwards  of  40  Fine  Engrav- 
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is  a  Gem.  The  sale  of  several  largo  editions,  in  a  few  years,  is  an 
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£3"  The  best  Book  of  the  kind  as  yet  published.—  .Boston  Pilni. 

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